Abased and Afraid
by eastwindholmes
Summary: A/U. Every single day Reid faces relentless abuse at the hands of his father. However, when Agent Aaron Hotchner of the FBI is called by his brother, he will find himself caught between this young boy and his father. Slowly, he finds himself captivated by the young boy and takes him into his home. REWRITE OF FIRST TWO CHAPTERS
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic is its own alternate universe. While I have attempted to keep as many aspects of the CM universe uniform to canon, I have altered select portions to fit into my fic

The sharp sound of glass hitting the wall sparked life into a young boy. Spencer Reid's eyes fluttered open as he shifted into a sitting position. His body ached and his ankle itched under the shackle his dad had attached to his leg. He sat on the floor nervously, playing with the chain that kept him bound to the cement floor of the garage. He held his breath, calming himself as he waited for the door to open. He was mentally reciting the digits of pi, and stopped abruptly when William Reid staggered through the door. "Morning dad," Spencer said timidly.

The man merely grunted, tossing the rest of his shattered beer at the wall to the boy's right. Without talking, William Reid swooped down, unchaining his shackle. Spencer scurried to his feet, standing at attention, avoiding his dad's gaze. A short pause ensued before William slapped Spencer across the face. Spencer held his breath but did not break his stance. His cheek smarted as William regained his balance. Spencer shut his eyes as his morning beating began. He let his mind wander as his dad began to kick and punch his slight frame. He did his best to remain standing, as his father always hated the week. Eventually, his father stopped. Spencer bit his lip. This was nothing new to him, ever since his mother went away.

Spencer held his breath, waiting for the worst, when, without warning, his father grabbed a fistful of chestnut hair. Lifting the boy roughly, Spencer's toes grazed the hardwood floor as his father dragged him into his study. Suppressing a moan, Spencer winced as he was thrown into the wall. Crumpling to the floor, he whimpered softly as his father's shadow engulfed his small frame. "Please, please, please," the youth muttered in a familiar mantra. His father shook his head drunkenly before yanking the boy up from the wrists. "Stand up straight, worthless piece of shit. It's time for breakfast," he said forcefully, kicking a dog bowl over. It slid and landed in front of the slumping boy.

Bits of moldy cheese and clumps of milk floated in the bowl. Spencer made the mistake of letting his small nose wrinkle in a slight grimace. The elder Reid, despite being inebriated beyond common sense, caught the young boy's expression and snorted. "What- the food I put in front of you isn't good enough for Little Lord Fauntleroy?" he sneered, bearing down on the tiny child.

Spencer opened his mouth, tempted to ask the man if he was the disinherited son of the Earl of Dorincourt, decided against it and only said, "No sir, I just think there's little to no nutritional value in sour milk and cheese and I was just hoping that since it's been a few days since I've had fresh food if you could maybe give me a leaf of lettuce and some cold water."

William stared at Spencer, as if he had asked for all the jewels in London. "New food?" he asked in disbelief. "Boy, the food I put in front of your ungrateful face should be new enough. You don't deserve anything newer than that," he said, not even masking the disdain he had for his small son.

Spencer nodded mutely, kicking himself for even asking for something different. He ducked his head down, about to devour his meal. "Actually," William cut in, picking the bowl up off the floor. "You don't deserve even this. You aren't human so why should you eat like one? Which is why, when I was out last night, I picked up something that suits little whelps like you more."

Spencer shut his eyes, cursing himself as he heard the can opener grinding against a tin. Thoughts raced through his mind. Would his father kill him by poisoning food? Or does he enjoy the gratuitous torture more? When he heard something wet plot into the dish, he looked down again. A smelly mound of dog food sat in the bowl. Spencer looked up defiantly. "No, I won't eat this," he protested.

His father laughed softly. "Boy I don't care if you starve to death, sooner or later you'll be begging for my generosity."

Spencer shook his head vigorously. "I don't care if I become more famished than a fish in the desert, you can't get me to eat dog food. I'm not a dog. I'm a boy. I'm a boy," he insisted, folding his arms.

His father's upper lip curled into a snarl. "Well, if the dog won't _eat_ his food, I guess the dog will have to sleep in the _outside._ "

An overwhelming sense of dread filled the young boy as his father grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him into the back yard. The yard was unkempt and the grass was patchy and brown. A rusted old fence was built around the perimeter. Beyond that, was a thicket of trees and bushes, obscuring the small family home. An old rusted chain was connected to the dilapidated fence, and William Reid fastened it around his son's neck. Giving the chain a sharp pull, Spencer yelped in pain. Tears stung his eyes as his father glared at him with so much hate. His father pulled the chain again, tightening the hold. The chain links sunk into Spencer's bruised and cut neck and he sputtered. "You can come inside when you decide to eat the food I put in front of you," his father growled

Reid could feel his heart racing so he nodded quickly. His father let go of the chain and Spencer fell to the ground. He kept his back turned as his father retreated back inside. After he heard the screen door close and could no longer smell the bar down the street, the boy turned around slowly, examining his new surroundings. His first move was quick and too sharp, as the chain slid into an open wound. Wincing, he situated himself to lean against the dog house. The only thing the boy was wearing was an oversized t shirt and a pair of boxers. The cool May breeze engulfed the yard and Spencer shook violently. He closed his eyes as tears stung his face. _Oh stop it,_ he scoffed to himself. _What were you expecting after all that talk back?_ Spencer continued to scold himself until the sun went down and he drifted into a mostly uncomfortable sleep.

Aaron Hotchner was sleeping peacefully when his cellphone began vibrating violently. Groggily, he picked it up, squinting into the bright light. Touching the green button he flopped back into bed with the phone to his ear. "Agent Hotchner," he said raspily.

"Aaron, it's Sean," the voice on the other end sounded just as weary.

Aaron sat up abruptly. "Is it mom? Is she okay?" he asked worriedly.

"She's fine man, though when I went over last, she told me she wished you called her more," his brother replied. "No, uh, are you still working in the BAU?"

"Yeah, I am, I just got off a case yester…this morning," Hotch said tiredly. "Can you please tell me what's going on?"

Sean sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm still in New York, but an old friend from Georgetown called me- he's a lawyer in Vegas. I mentioned, way back when, that my brother was an agent and well, he wants a big favor," Sean trailed off, mind racing, still trying to form his ultimate question.

Hotch sighed impatiently. "Right, okay, but what's the favor?"

Sean cleared his throat. "Completely _off the books_ , uh, my friend, thinks that one of his coworkers, uh, killed his wife and his child."

There was nothing but silence from the other line, so Sean hastily explained further. "So my friend, Aiden. He works at Kierschenbaum, Wieder and Moore law firm in Summerlin, Nevada. He has a coworker, not a partner, but a guy who's been there for a pretty long time. His name is William Reid. Aiden's been there for about three years, and he says this guy seems to be on a downward spiral that no one wants to acknowledge. Comes to work reeking of liquor, hardly wins any cases, but since he's cousins with one of the partners he doesn't get fired. That doesn't bother Aiden. But apparently, when he started there, Reid's wife and child would sometime come to his office and say hello. He said over the few years, his family has slowly disappeared. About two years ago, there was a massive rumor floating around that William had his wife, Diana, committed. His son was known around the city for being exceptionally smart, there were newspaper articles about him entering the fifth grade about two years back. His son is supposed to be seven by now, but Aiden says he hasn't seen the boy in months. He could have sworn there was dried blood on the bathroom walls, and the garage smelled like someone has been shitting in it for weeks. He's called the police but he's been getting the run around and he is sincerely worried this man's hurt his son. I know you don't have enough for a case, but I'm sure you've got a wider breadth of resources to investigate this," Sean pleaded with his older brother.

Hotch sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I can see why you want this off the books, there isn't a case here at all. All I can promise is that I'll have Penelope look into it," he told his brother wearily.

"Thank you, Aaron. Please let me know what you find out," Sean said gratefully. "G'night."

The next morning, Penelope Garcia strut into Hotch's office. "Sir, you called for me?"

Hotch looked up from the file on his desk. "Yes, Garcia. I need you to run a few searches for me please. Please, keep it legal, but as discreet as possible."

He could see Garcia had a million questions but was using all her personal restraint. "Okay sir. What are these searches?" she asked, whipping out a pink fuzzy notebook with an equally decorative pen.

"I want you to look into William Reid, an attorney in Summerlin, Nevada. I want you to tell me anything about him, his wife, and especially his son."

Penelope nodded swiftly before leaving for her office. Hotch returned to his file which Sean had faxed over that morning. So far, the only thing he knew about this family was from archived news clippings and amateur Google searches.

About an hour later, Garcia floated back into his office with a thicket of paper in her arms. "Sir. I have found a lot lot lot on William Reid. He is an attorney in Summerlin, which you already knew. He was born in Spokane and went to law school at Stanford. In 1989 he married Diana Rawlins, a paranoid schizophrenic. They gave birth to a son, Spencer, in October of 2008. William practices at a law firm in Summerlin but oddly his name hasn't been attached to any cases in about three or four years. Spencer is apparently a child prodigy, he was enrolled into an accelerated gifted school back in 2012. Everything looks really normal for them until 2014 when Diana suffered from a psychotic break. She was then committed to the Bennington Sanitarium where she still is today."

Hotch nodded slowly, processing the information. "Do we know what happened to the father and son?" he asked.

Penelope frowned slightly. "In 2014, William pulled Spencer out of school, ignored all the visits from social services, and nobody has seen him since then. The dad has been arrested numerous times for drunken disorderly conduct."

Hotch frowned. "Thank you Penelope, you can return to your office," he said kindly.

Sitting in his office, perplexed with the dilemma, he called Rossi into his office. "Dave, can you cover for me for a few days?" he asked seriously.

David frowned. He knew how solemnly Aaron took time off, so he didn't mind covering for the man under the short notice. "Of course, is something wrong?" he asked with extreme concern.

Aaron shook his head. "I'm not sure, I'm doing a favor for Sean."

David nodded and walked out of the unit chief's office. He opened his phone to text Sean. 'I'm on my way to the airport. I'll let you know when I land in Vegas."

Reid's breath rattled as he jolted awake. He rubbed his eyes and sighed as he saw the large expanse of lawn he was currently inhabiting. He could just barely smell his mother, who visited him so briefly in his dreams. The rusty chains clanked against one another and the spring breeze wafted around the yard. He tilted his face to the sky and tried to calm himself. The midnight sky is clouded with fog and the canopy of trees above him. Inhale, 2, 3. Exhale, 2, 3, 4. Soon, the sun was peeking out from the fringe of the trees. Momentarily blinded, Reid screwed his eyes shut. Slowly opening his eyes, He waited patiently for his father to come out. This was his third day tied to the fence and he could feel his resolve dwindling. He hummed quietly as his rips ached. At this point, his cuts have scabbed over his collar and every movement sent sharp jolts of pain into the boy's small frame. Spencer whined pitifully. _At least it's better than spending **special time** with him, _ he thought to himself. He shut his eyes, patiently waiting for his father's morning stops before work.

Not to his surprise, William Reid staggered out of his home, a stupid grin on his face. He advanced on his son. "Well boy, are you going to eat it?" he demanded, shoving the dog food in his son's face once more.

Chin held high, Spencer shook his head vigorously. "No sir," he said.

William scoffed, tossing the dish aside. The several day old discount dog food went flying across the lawn. He cracked his knuckles menacingly and Spencer wistfully thought back on old TV specials his mom would watch with him when the bully threatened to beat up the little guy. The only difference was that there was no hero in the real world.

He shut his eyes and waited for the worst.

A/N: So I decided to rewrite the first two chapters because I felt like I was writing myself into a corner.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This was more popular than I thought it would be, so I decided to start working on the next chapter as soon as I could!

Aaron Hotchner stood in front of the Reid house. Skeptically, he walked up the porch steps and rung the doorbell. He waited but to no avail. He checked his watch. It was 9 AM, the older Reid was probably already at work and Hotch would just have to visit later. He turned to descend down the stars when he heard a loud cracking noise. He paused slightly expecting to hear the rustling of a branch after it fell off the tree. Instead he heard incoherent grunting and a louder cracking, which he could discern all too well as the sound of a belt cracking. He walked down the steps quickly and drew his gun. Inching along the side of the house, he quietly opened the fence leading to the backyard. The sounds intensified as Hotch made his way into the yard, and he could hear the belt coming down over the sound of soft whimpering. He hid behind an unkempt shrub, listening momentarily. Suddenly, it was quiet. Hotch felt uneasy and he peered out from the bush. A disheveled man in an ill-fitting work suit was climbing over a fence. Cursing to himself, Hotch ran out and aimed his gun. "Freeze, William Reid, FBI," he shouted.

William continued to run and Hotch fired two rounds, missing each time before seeking out the source of the moaning. He scanned the lawn, and Hotch's eyes widened. Nothing could have prepared him from what was in the other corner of that yard. A small boy was huddled against the fence sitting on the rocks, in his own mess. The boy's breathing was labored and bruises covered every visible part of his body. Aaron was taken aback, and he mentally tallied the amount of broken bones and abrasions, but he couldn't quite count them all. His eyes traveled up the boy's body and rested on the rusty collar fashioned around his neck. He could feel the heat in his gut reach a boiling point. The boy's face was also marred with an innumerable amounts of abrasions. Chapped, bleeding lips drew in shaking rattling breaths, and small knees were pulled up towards the youngster's chest. Hotch stretched out his hand and the boy, much to his surprise took it. "H-help me," he whispered pitifully.

Hotch could feel his throat catch as the small boy weakly squeezed his hands. Situating himself next to the boy, Hotch dialed 911. "Yes. I'm agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. I am at 6330 Buzz Aldrin Drive. I need a medic immediately. There's a young boy here who's badly hurt. No, I'm not his father. Thank you. Quickly, please."

He looked over at the small boy sadly. _This boy's father was scum_ , he thought viciously. _If Spencer were my son,_ he stopped himself, mentally slowing his thoughts. _Son? Are you even ready for a son?_ The boy flinched involuntarily as a strong wind whipped through the air. Aaron outstretched his hand to brush hair out of the boy's face, but Spencer whimpered pitifully and weakly batted away the hand. Hotch sat there, helpless. He decided he should just talk to the boy, keep him company. After what seemed like forever, the piercing siren filled the air. "Spencer, Spencer, the ambulance is here. You're going to be okay," he whispered, trying to assure both Spencer and himself.

Stepping back, he let the medics do their job. Hands clasped in front of them, Aaron, for the first time in years, found himself without words and without answers. _Dear God, Allah, Buddah, Jesus, whoever's up there. Please don't let this boy die. Please don't let him die. I promised him he'd be okay. Please let him be okay."_

Hotch directed one of the EMT's over to the young boy in the yard. The first man quickly called over his colleagues, who's faces all dropped as they saw the slight figure chained to the rusting fence. Quickly, they begin to delink the chains connecting Spencer to the fence. The first EMT turned to Hotch sadly. "Alright Mr. Hotchner. My name is Mark, can you tell me that little guy's name?"

"His name is Spencer Reid," Hotch said. "I'm not related to him." _But I should be._

Mark nodded. "Alright man, well, my colleagues have him in the back of the ambulance. Would you care to ride with us or would you like to meet us at the hospital?"

"I'll ride with you."

Hotch climbed into the back of the ambulance, taking a seat in the far corner. He did his best to stay out of the EMT's ways. Clasping his hands in front of him, he sighed deeply and admonished himself. _Come on Aaron, how do you ever expect to lead the BAU if this one 'case' gets to you so badly._ He allowed himself to drift into his mind. Sighing, Mark plopped down next to Aaron, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Hey listen man, he's uh, he's not in the best shape. I'm not the doctor, but I've never seen so many cuts and bruises and broken bones on one little kid. He seems super dehydrated and malnourished. Do you know how old he is? That chain in his neck, I can't get it out now without cutting open a lot of scabs. We delinked as much as we can but the doctor is going to need to look at that closer."

Aaron snapped out of his reverie. "Uh, he uh, he was supposed to be born back in 2008. In October. But he doesn't look seven years old at all. He's uh," Hotch had to clear the sudden catch in his throat. "He's so _small_."

Mark nodded and roughly slapped Hotch on the back. "We'll do our best," he promised solemnly, standing up to go attend to the boy.

After another five-minute drive, they pulled into the bay. Hotch stepped out of the vehicle and they wheeled the stretcher into the hospital. "We need a doctor as soon as possible," Mark told one of the nurses. "Several fractures, multiple breaks, contusions and lacerations covering this kid's body. I think he's broken some of his ribs which is why he can't breathe all too well and he's well, got a chain literally stuck inside his neck," he explained quickly, speed walking Spencer into an adjoining room.

The nurse nodded grimly and stepped away, nodding at her colleague to begin triage. A younger, brunette lady with her hair pulled away from her face and a kind smile stepped into Spencer's room. Hotch took a seat next to the boy. "Are you the dad?" the nurse asked brusquely, eyeing Hotch suspiciously.

Hotch grimaced. It seemed like a lot of people were asking him that question today. And after mulling it over on the ride to the hospital, he wasn't sure if being Spencer's dad would be a bad thing- someone needed to do the job justice. He pulled out his badge. "No. I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. I'm the one who found the b- Spencer," he said.

She nodded slowly. Hotch turned to look at Reid, who was seemingly awake but very overwhelmed. The hospital bed dwarfed his tiny frame and the white sheets gave a stark contrast against the dark offal odor of the boy's skin. He whined softly as she moved closer to him. She pulled up the other chair, not to close, but close enough so he could hear her. "Hi Spencer, I'm Addie. I'm going to be one of the nurses that help you get better."

Spencer didn't say anything, but he really didn't want to be patronized, so he turned his aching head to look at her. One of his eyes was swollen shut and the other was dangerously close. "I'm not going to have you talk honey because we think some of your ribs are broken. We're going to get you changed into a gown and the doctor will be in shortly," she said gently, standing up and leaving quietly.

Her presence was closely followed by a tall woman with red hair dressed very smartly in a skirt, blouse, and white coat. "Hi Spencer. I'm the doctor on call, Dr. Benson. Agent, there's a police officer outside waiting for you."

Hotch nodded curtly and stood up to leave, but Spencer tugged on his hand. "Stay," he whispered.

Hotch looked over at the doctor. "Can I stay until you complete your examination?" he asked.

Dr. Benson glanced at the little boy who was looking at the FBI agent pleadingly. She nodded. "Can you sit up for me please honey?" she asked Spencer gently.

Spencer complied and the doctor sat on the edge of the bed gently. "I'm going to listen to your lungs and do a general examination, okay?"

Spencer didn't respond. She placed her stethoscope on his back and listened attentively. She looked over his uncovered body and frowned. "Honey can I take off your robe?" she asked.

Spencer shook his head violently. "Okay, okay. Well. First we obviously have to do surgery to get that chain out of you. But then I'll have to do some x-rays and run some tests, okay?"

Illogical rage bubbled in Spencer. _Yeah give me a full body x-ray lady. I've got at least four broken bones as well as poorly healed broken bones. I'm broken all over. I'm also pretty sure I have walking pneumonia in the middle of May but oh well._

Before Reid could respond, the surgeon walked into the room. "Hi Spencer, I'm Dr. Watson," the doctor greeted. "We're going to have to get that chain off of you first thing buddy. My friend will help you take a nap and we'll have that off of you in no time," she smiled warmly at Spencer.

Spencer's glared bitterly. _What **kind** of anesthetic? Am I getting premedication beforehand? I'd love to know what they plan on giving me_ he thought. _Don't say anything though, you know what happens when you correct an adult,_ he cautioned himself before inhaling sharply and nodding.

Dr. Watson glanced at Hotch. "I think it would be better if you were more forthcoming," Hotch advised, eyeing the sulking boy thoughtfully.

Confused for a moment, Dr. Watson shook her head slightly before turning to Spencer. "We were going to give you a premedication, called Dexmedetomidine which is an analgesic that'll help you feel calm. Then, we were going to do a general anesthetic once we were in the operating room. From there we were going to inject a local anesthetic around your neck." She finished, doubting that the boy understood a word she said.

Spencer nodded gratefully at both Hotch and the doctor. "I'm okay with that," he said softly. He then turned to Hotch sitting by his bedside. "Will you be there?" he asked.

"I think that would be okay," Dr. Watson smiled warmly. She could tell the FBI agent would be the closest person the patient would open up to, and she was willing to make that exception. "While Agent Hotchner can't be in the operating room, he can watch from the observatory. If that's what Agent Hotchner wants to do," she added, positive the man wouldn't say no.

Hotch could tell he wasn't trying to get his hopes up, but he could hear the faint fear in the boy's voice. How could he let this boy down like so many other before him? "Of course buddy," he said, reaching out his hand tentatively.

To his surprise, Reid grasped a couple of his fingers and squeezed weakly. "Thank you agent," he said softly.

Dr. Watson smiled warmly. "Alright Spencer, Agent Hotchner needs to talk with the police for a moment, but I promise you right before you take your nap he'll be right back here with you."

Hotch nodded slightly at the doctor and met the officer in the hall. The police officer closed the door before turning to Hotch. "I'm detective Barnett Harding. Can you tell me what happened agent?"

Hotch nodded. "I'm agent Aaron Hotchner of the FBI. I was visiting William Reid following a tip that there's suspicious circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Spencer Reid and Diana Reid," he reluctantly admitted.

The officer nodded. "Well, uh, I did hear from social services that Spencer was taken out of school last fall. We did multiple home checks, but both William and his son insisted he switched to a homeschooling based system. They never filed the paperwork though. Diana, was committed to Bennington Sanitarium back in 2014."

Hotch nodded slightly. "I did do a background check on William but could not conduct a full scale investigation. I heard a large disturbance from the backyard which gave me reasonable suspicion that someone was in great distress. I followed protocol, but when I tried to apprehend Reid, he fled. I had two choices: chase after him, or tend to the severely wounded boy I found in this yard," Hotch explained. "He was whipping the boy with the buckle end of the belt, which I left at the crime scene."

The officer nodded. "Well, we will conduct a full forensic investigation at the crime scene, but from the amount of damage done, when we find Reid, we will be filing charges for gross child neglect and abuse.

Hotch nodded, relieved. "Do you know if Spencer has any family he'll go to?" he asked.

Barnett shook his head sadly. "No, the Reid family is a pretty prominent family in the neighborhood, but it's just the three of them. It looks like Spencer would go into the foster care system."

Hotch nodded sadly. "I understand officer, thank you," he said solemnly.

Barnett shook Hotch's hand. "It seems like you have quite an interest in the kid."

Hotch nodded. "I do. I…I might want to adopt him myself."

The officer looked taken aback, but smiled before walking away. Hotch turned back to the triage room, mind buzzing. _Don't pretend like that wasn't one of the first things that came to your mind when you saw that poor boy lying outside left to the elements._ _This is no way to rationalize this though. You don't just adopt a child because there's no reason not to._ He silently quelled the argument in his brain before reentering the triage room. The anesthesiologist had made his way into the room and was preparing the premedication. "I'm back buddy," he said gently, outstretching his hand again for Spencer to hold.

Spencer nodded and took the outstretched hand. The anesthesiologist walked around to his other side. "Okay Spencer, I'm putting the medication in your IV right now. You should get sleepy in-"

"Fifteen to thirty minutes," the boy murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

The anesthesiologist smiled and finished. Before leaving the room he turned to Hotch, "That's a smart strong kid right there. He really likes you too."

Hotch could only smile in return. He nodded the anesthesiologist out before turning his attention to Spencer. He readjusted himself, tentatively reaching for Spencer's forehead. When Spencer didn't flinch away, Hotch brushed his chestnut brown hair off his face and slowly stroked the boy's face. Hotch looked down at the small boy with fondness and a sad bitterness. _This boy shouldn't go to a foster home,_ he thought to himself in desperation. _And I wouldn't trust a random distant relative to take him away. He deserves a family that will love him._ Suddenly, Hotch's phone started buzzing, bringing him out of his trance. He quickly slipped his hand out of Reid's and walked into the hallway. "Hi Dave, what's going on?"

"Aaron, the team caught a case in Minnesota. We fly out in thirty. Would you like me to keep you in the loop."

"That'd be fantastic Dave. Thank you for covering, I'll let you know as soon as I'm available to come back."

When he looked back into the room, Spencer was sound asleep and the doctor was preparing to wheel him into the operating room. A nurse showed him into the observation room and he thanked her. Breathing deeply, he watched intently as the doctor began the arduous task of cutting the chains off Spencer's neck. It was tedious and from Hotch could see, the wounds bled like a stuck pig. His heart ached for the boy lying on the table. The procedure seemed fairly repetitive. Cut, blot, remove link, sterilize, and stitch. But an hour in, Hotch could tell something was wrong. The doctor quickly set down his scalpel. People crowded around the gurney and Hotch panicked immediately. He pressed his face closer to the glass.

Dr. Watson was focusing deeply on the chain embedded in the little boy. Piece by piece, she was determined to get it removed with as little damage as she could possibly inflict. Suddenly, he began seizing. She quickly dropped the scalpel and frantically checked his airways. "His tongue is occluding his airway and he's in v-fib," she said, turning to her colleague who was preparing the defibrillator.

A/N: And here's chapter two guys (: I rewrote this chapter as well to better fit the way I see this story going


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE CONTINUING.

So I reposted the first few chapters with some rewrites and major edits, so you need to go reread those to make sure you're up to date, but everything should be smooth sailing from here

Hotch held his breath as the surgeon tried to revive Spencer. About two minutes passed before he saw her shoulders sag in relief and she stepped away, revealing a very pale but alive boy on the operating table. Before he could scrutinize the child further, another nurse walked into the observation deck. "Agent Hotchner, we're moving Spencer to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. First he needs to go to the recovery room but as soon as we have him transferred back to his own room we'll come get you."

Hotch nodded and followed the tall man into the waiting area. He sat there, flipping through old magazines without really reading them. Anxiety slowly crept up on his countenance and within thirty minutes he could feel his face flush as his heart raced. Will Spencer be okay? Was I too late? Was it not enough? How could I have helped save him. Before he could dig himself too deeply into a hole of guilt, the surgeon walked through the double doors leading to the waiting area. "Hello Agent Hotchner, nice to see you again." Hotch nodded at her impatiently urging her to continue. "We managed to delink the entire chain and sew up his neck. However, I'm exceptionally concerned about the possibility of him having broken ribs and I'd like to get a chest x-ray as soon as possible so we know what we're working with. We just wheeled him into recovery and the anesthesia should be wearing off anytime now so just wait for someone to direct you to his room in the PICU."

Hotch let out a breath of relief. "Thank you doctor," he said gratefully, shaking her hand. He followed her through the double doors, praising whoever answered his silent prayer.

Spencer's opened his eyes groggily. The light blinded him and he squinted. "You gave us an awful scare young man," a nurse said gently, at his bedside attaching a fluid bag to his IV and smiling down at him warmly.

The woman was middle aged with graying red hair and a generous smile. She finished hanging the IV bag. "Agent Hotchner is in the waiting room, as soon as we wheel you into your room we can send him back," she explained as Spencer turned his head to look around the room.

He opened his mouth, trying to talk, but it felt like it was full of cotton. "Thank you," he whispered.

She smiled at him sadly. "No problem sweet heart," she replied kindly. "Are you sore anywhere."

Spencer blinked twice. The dull throbbing in his neck and throat was incessant but wasn't anything near what it used to be. He knew better than to admit when he was in pain. He sat up straight and looked the nurse in the eye, "No ma'am."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Alright young man." She decided to let it go, as the small boy was about to burst his own stitches with how frequently he was fidgeting and craning his neck. "Let's get you into your room."

Spencer sank back into the pillows with a sigh of relief as the nice nurse wheeled him into his room. He played with the edge of the blanket as he impatiently waited for Agent Hotchner to return. About fifteen minutes later, Hotch walked in. Spencer sat up immediately. "Hi," he said, edges of his mouth quivering into a half smile.

Hotch smiled back. "Hello Spencer, you had me frightened for a while," he admitted, pulling a seat up to the young boy's bed. "The doctor said the surgery went fine but they have to do a lot of x-rays to find out the full extent of the damage done to you."

Spencer looked at Hotch. "I'm sorry I caused so much trouble," he said hoarsely.

Hotch felt a flash of anger before calming himself enough to respond. "Spencer, none of this was your fault. Your father is a…damaged soul and the way he took his anger out on you and your mother was nothing short of outrageous neglect and abuse. You deserve better than anything he ever gave you."

Spencer felt tears swell in his eyes but he blinked them away. "Spencer, I can promise you we will find your dad and he will pay for what he did for you. And you will never ever have to live with him again."

Spencer looked at Hotch, his eyes full of gratitude. Spencer's brow furrowed and his expression quickly sank with worry. "What happens to me now? Where will I go once I recover from the surgery and I'm no longer in danger of dying?" the little boy asked timidly, fidgeting with his blanket and looking into his lap.

Hotch closed his eyes. He sighed deeply. "I don't quite know Spencer. Do you know if you have any relatives who would be able to take care of you?"

Spencer shook his head sadly. "No, I- I don't. It was always momma, father, and I. Until momma left two years ago."

Hotch nodded his head slowly. "Then I think you might become a ward of the state. Foster homes are very well monitored and I'll do my best to make sure you get to a nice home."

Spencer looked at his bed. His eyes were extremely wet and in danger of spilling tears onto his hospital gown. "I understand sir," he said mournfully.

Hotch looked at the little boy as he cried to himself. He pulled his chair closer to Spencer. "Spencer. You're exceptionally smart for your age. If I…propose another alternative, can you do your best not to get your hopes up," he explained sternly, looking the quiet crying child in the eyes.

Spencer wiped his eyes quickly, hoping that the Agent wouldn't be too mad that he was crying. "Y- yes sir."

Hotch reached out his hand slowly and when Spencer took it and clung to him, he knew what had to be done. "Spencer. What if I find a way for you to come live with me? I know I'm a stranger and you don't know who you can trust. But I'd be truly honored if you came to live with me back in D.C." he said softly.

Spencer hiccupped. "Y-you mean it? I'd get to come live in Washington, D.C, with you?" he asked, eyes brimming with contained hope.

Hotch nodded again. "I'm going to do my best to make sure you can come home with me Spencer," he said.

Spencer smiled as he leaned into Hotch. "Thank you agent. I promise I'll do my best to earn my keep. I know how to cook and clean really well," he said solemnly. He wasn't going to mess up his second chance at a family, no matter how much his father told him he didn't deserve it.

Hotch chuckled. "I wouldn't want you to come live with me as my helper or my servant, Spencer," he smiled at Spencer and reached out a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes.

Spencer quirked his eyebrow. "Sir?" he asked shyly.

"Spencer. You'd come live with me as my son. And as my son, you don't need to do anything except go to school and enjoy yourself."

Spencer's eyes widened and a lump appeared in his throat. "Y-yes sir," he said in amazement. No work? It could only be a trap. As his father used to tell him, nothing comes for free.

Hotch smiled. "I'll call the appropriate agencies as quickly as I can. And Spencer, I mean it. It's time someone is a real father to you," he said warmly, ruffling Spencer's hair and swelling with pride when the young boy didn't flinch.

Spencer felt giddy. Maybe dad could be wrong. Maybe father didn't know anything. Maybe this time I'll get a good father. A real father that feeds me and helps me with my homework and doesn't yell at me if I take long to make dinner. Oh I hope so much that Agent Hotchner means what he said. Before Spencer could truly revel in the news, a nurse came in with a tray. "Hey kiddo, we got you a snack before dinner."

Spencer's eye widened as the tray was set on his table. Uncovered before him was a cup of cottage cheese and a separate cup of peaches. His eyes darted quickly from one to the other, figuring out which one he should choose. He knew not to touch either until someone gave him the go ahead. Hotch gently reached over and took the peach cup from the tray. Spencer's heart sank. Oh, well I should have known the food was for agent Hotchner. Dirty freaks don't get food. They still left you a whole cup of cottage cheese that agent Hotchner might let you have the scraps of, he assured himself. However, he was surprised when Agent Hotchner had set the cup of peaches back on the tray, open, mixed, and a spoon sticking out. Spencer glanced at the man hesitantly, he was positive this was some cruel trick. But Agent Hotchner only smiled warmly and gestured towards the open cup of peaches. Spencer reached out tentatively, holding the cup like it was the Holy Grail. Before Hotch could blink, Spencer was spooning peaches into his mouth like they would disappear. And Hotch sadly realized that the little boy thought the food would disappear. Hotch gently placed his hand on Spencer's. "Spencer, please eat slower. I promise nobody will take the food away from you. I just don't want you to choke."

Trusting eyes met Hotch's and Spencer nodded. He began eating at a much more reasonable rate. After he finished the peaches, Hotch caught him eying the cottage cheese hopefully. Knowing the boy would never ask, Hotch merely reached over again, opened the container, and handed the child a clean spoon. Spencer looked at Hotch gratefully before digging into his new treat.

Hotch watched him sadly. He vowed that when he took charge of Spencer's care, Spencer should want for nothing and would never feel that sort of hunger again. Spencer pushed away the container of cottage cheese and leaned back into his bed. His eyes were slowly drooping. He reached out to catch Hotch's hand and pull the surprised man closer to him. "Don't leave me," the little boy whispered before drifting off into a calm sleep.

Hotch sat with Spencer for the duration of the day. When it came close to bed time, a nurse walked in and proposed that Agent Hotchner grab his pajamas before settling into the sleeper sofa in Spencer's room. Hotch refused politely, fluffing the hospital pillow they gave him and drifting off to sleep.

The next morning, Hotch woke up with a slight crick in his back. He turned to see Spencer sleeping soundly as a nurse hung another IV bag. She smiled at him before crossing over to the couch. "Hello agent, did you sleep well?" she asked.

Hotch nodded swiftly. "Of course," he lied through his teeth. "Can I ask what you just gave Spencer?" he inquired.

"I gave him some lactated ringers over night to help with the malnourishment. That boy is too small for his age. Right now I'm giving him some painkillers and a round of antibiotics to help clear any infection that might have occurred when he was….before we could remove the chain from his neck. He should be going in for chest x-rays later today and a social worker called and said she was coming to visit."

Hotch smiled gratefully. "Thank you," he said.

The nurse walked out of the room and Hotch stretched out. He checked the time. It was only 9AM, but he straightened his clothes and quickly combed his fingers through his hair. After asking the polite nurse for some mouth wash, he walked back into the room to see Spencer lying there half awake, with the blanket drawn up to his chin. "M-mornin' agent Hotchner," he said sleepily, burrowing further under the covers.

Hotch grinned as he walked over to Spencer's bed. "Morning kiddo," he said gently, sitting on the end of the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked the yawning child.

As Spencer stretched, Hotch could see the neat stitches circling his neck. "I'm fine sir," Spencer said, wincing as he moved the wrong way.

Hotch frowned. "Do you need some more pain medication?" he asked worriedly, reaching over to tuck the boy back in.

Spencer shook his head so violently, Hotch was afraid he would tear his stitches. He placed a stern hand on Spencer's shoulder, "Hey buddy, calm down. It's okay if you're in pain," he reassured.

Spencer stopped and sunk into the bed shamefully. Hotch looked him in the eyes. "Are you in pain, Spencer?" he asked, firmly but softly.

Spencer felt his eyes well up as the dull ache in his neck and the sharp pains in the rest of his body amplified. "Y-yes sir," he whispered shamefully, looking down into his lap.

Hotch squeezed his shoulder. "Good man. I'll go talk to a nurse about how to fix that for you." Before he could leave the room, he leaned down to whisper into Spencer's ear. "I'm proud of you for telling me buddy," he said before leaving the room.

Spencer smiled as he watched Hotch seek out another nurse. When she came in, he avoided her gaze. "Alright sweetie, so you're going into x-rays later this afternoon, but I can give you some more pain medication before then."

Spencer looked up shyly. She seemed alright, so maybe it would be okay for him to ask questions. "C-can I ask which pain medication you're using?"

The nurse looked taken aback. Looking at Hotch, who nodded at her, she turned back to the young boy in the bed. "Well hon, we don't wanna use an opiod so we're giving you some naproxen to help ease that discomfort you're feeling."

Spencer nodded intently. "Thank you miss," he said.

Hotch nodded in approval. "Spencer, today a social worker from Clark County is coming to visit. She'll want to talk to you about your father and I'd like to talk to her about the process of adoption."

"Do I have to tell her everything my dad did to me?"

Hotch grimaced at the implication that Spencer's abuse was worse than he assumed. "Spencer, you tell her what you're comfortable with, but make sure to tell her the truth."

The little boy nodded solemnly. "I swear it agent Hotchner. Will you be here with me?"

"I promise to stay here until I have to leave," Hotch said carefully. He hoped the social worker would let him stay in the room but he could not promise something he didn't know for sure.

Spencer smiled. He knew, inwardly, with some of that instinct he buried years ago, that this man, agent Hotchner, would be one of the only adults who kept his word for him. He sighed happily. Right now, he wasn't even worried about his father coming to find him. As long as agent Hotchner was here, he knew he'd be safe.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So this weekend is my fall break (: I did really badly on a couple of my midterms so to cheer myself up, I wrote you guys another chapter

A man knocked softly on Room 12 in Summerlin Hospital's PICU. The tall FBI agent who had been occupying the room answered. Gesturing for the agent to step outside, he obliged. "Hello agent Hotchner, I'm Dale Collins, a nurse. We have to get Spencer into his x-ray as soon as possible. Yesterday, most of his complications during surgery was caused by a punctured lung. While the doctors were able to repair and reflate his lung before bringing him back here, we would like a full chest x-ray to make sure this doesn't happen again. We also want to do further tests and take a few more pictures of some of his other injuries so we have those out of the way."

Hotch nodded solemnly. This might explain why Spencer was in surgery for longer than expected. He led the nurse into Spencer's room. The young boy was dwarfed by the large number of pillows, but a sense of strength emanated from him as Dale neared the boy's bed. Spencer smiled weakly at the nurse looming over him. "Alright Spencer, it's time to go in for your x-rays buddy," Dale said gently, walking over to detach his IV and wheel him out of the room.

Spencer waved at Hotch who couldn't help but smile at the young man as he was escorted out of the room. Hotch sat back down the couch and lost himself in thought. _How do I ask for a child? What would I do if they give me temporary custody? It wouldn't hurt to take a few weeks off and spend it getting to know Spencer, and then I can always hire a nanny. But Spencer has such trust issues I don't even know if I would be comfortable leaving him with an unknown person for an extended period of time… Would I have to leave the BAU?_

Haley Brooks straightened her skirt before walking into the Summerlin Hospital. She greeted the woman at the front desk with a warm smile. "Hi, I'm from Clark County social services. I'm here to visit Spencer…John Reid. He should be in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit," she said, checking her clipboard.

The nurse smiled back and pointed down a long hallway adorned with children's handprints and crafty paintings. Haley nodded in appreciation and walked down the long hallway. She was faced with a set of heavy metal doors. To the right, a small intercom was placed on the wall. Pressing the button, she waited for a response. "Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, how may I help you?" a voice rasped, speaking over the incessant static of the speaker.

Haley cleared her throat. "My name is Haley Brooks, I'm with the Clark county social services and I called earlier about doing an assessment with Spencer Reid, who was admitted yesterday afternoon."

The voice didn't respond, but the large doors opened slowly. She entered, stopping by the desk in the center of the unit to receive a nametag. A male nurse led her to a small room with a closed door. She knocked twice, subconsciously holding her breath. Instead, a stoic man with dark hair and a suit answered the door. _This must be agent Aaron Hotchner_ , she thought to herself. He nodded curtly and let her into the room. She looked around, and to her displeasure, Spencer was not actually in the room. "Spencer went to go get some test done, but we can talk until then," he explained softly, leading her to the sofa.

"Alright agent Hotchner. My name is Haley Brooks. I'm a licensed clinical social worker with Clark County. Yesterday, we received a formal written report by officer Barnett Harding. He reported that you found Spencer John Reid…chained to a fence," she said shakily. "He reported that you attempted to apprehend William Reid, but was unable to, and you called the medics as soon as you could. When agent Harding went back to the Reid home, he reported that he found a shackle chained to the floor in the basement and no distinct signs of a child in the home. He recommends that Spencer John Reid be put in your emergency custody until William Reid is found. At that point, he recommends either placement in a foster home if nobody expresses a wish to adopt him. I don't have a problem with much of his statement, but rather a fair amount of questions for you, agent," she finished, looking at Hotch intently.

Hotch was clearly taken aback. _Emergency placement in my care? This is so close to what I want, I might as well express my intentions._ "I have little issue with taking Spencer into my care. I'd also like to make an addendum in my own statement that if Spencer is not adopted by the time William Reid is found, I would personally like to do that myself."

Haley raised her eyebrows. "Alright agent, I'll add that to my notes. Now. I have several questions about your…capacity to take on a child," she said carefully. "Firstly, I have been made aware early this morning that you are an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit, working under unit chief Jason Gideon. Your job requires quite a bit of traveling and I would like to know how you would incorporate parenting with your unique professional schedule."

Hotch nodded. "Of course Ms. Brooks. I was planning on using some vacation time, about two weeks after Spencer comes home with me After that time I would either leave my job at the BAU for something more flexible, or I would find an alternative person to care for Spencer while I was away."

Haley wrote furiously on her clipboard. "Thank you Mr. Hotchner. I'd also like to know if it would be possible for me to do a home visit sometime within the first six months, if this extends that long."

"Of course. I'm also willing to turn over my full driving record, finger prints, and a list of references or contacts for when I take Spencer back to D.C. I'd also like to turn over a copy of my FBI employment file. I can have my technical analysis fax you the full amount of information needed."

Haley grinned. "Thank you agent, I would love that. Here's my number. I'd also like you to fill out this questionnaire I carry with me for most prospective adoptive parents do this, and since you said that would be the step you'd like to take- it's better to get a head start."

Hotch took the thick manilla envelope. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked.

"No, I just need to speak to Spencer."

Spencer sighed as the heavy machine whirred loudly. He couldn't tell how long he'd been in the x-ray laboratory without his glasses, but he was positive it was an hour now. Suddenly, the nurse appeared back at his side. "Alright buddy, looks like we're good to go."

Spencer hobbled back to his bed and climbed in, settling back with a loud sigh. He couldn't wait to see agent Hotchner again. The x-ray technician gave him a sticker, and while normally Spencer thought stickers were for babies, he was oddly excited to show agent Hotchner how neat it was.

The bed wheeled back into the room, and agent Hotchner was still perched on the couch, but this time he was joined by a lady with light blonde hair. Spencer immediately ignored her gaze, staring down at his lap. He knew it was okay to look at agent Hotchner, but not other adults. Other adults didn't want to look at good for nothing freaks like him. Through his fringe he could see the lady get off the couch. He inched away as she got close to him. "Spencer? Would you like agent Hotchner to stay in the room while I talked to you?" she asked gently

Spencer couldn't help but flinch at the kindness in her tone. "Yes ma'am," he said so softly, it was barely a whisper.

She smiled at him and sat at the very edge of the bed. "Spencer. My name is Ms. Brooks. I'm from the social worker's office. I have to talk to you about what your father did."

Spencer whimpered and shook his head violently. Hotch was, once again, afraid that he'd pull his stitches. Swiftly, he got up and stood by Spencer's side. Under his breath you could hear Spencer muttering, "Not allowed not allowed no talking about _freakish_ things. Stupid unwanted whelp good for nothing freak."

Hotch rubbed his bac k gently, comforting the small boy. "Spencer, it's okay. But you have to tell Ms. Brooks about what your father did. I promise you, once you tell her, your father will never ever hurt you again," Hotch soothed the shaking boy.

Spencer shook his head again. "Can't," he whispered. "Not s'posed to tell anyone. Nobody believes little liars anyways."

Hotch sighed. He kept rubbing small circles on Spencer's back. "Spencer please, Ms. Brooks just wants to know if your father hurt you."

Spencer whimpered and tucked his knees close to his chest. He put his head down as he cried. Hotch just shook his head at Haley, who nodded in understanding and silently got off the bed.

Before she could leave, Spencer picked his head up and pulled down on his hospital gow. "He burned me," he cried mournfully.

In the glaring fluorescent light, Hotch was in horror. He couldn't see this from the surgical observation room. Spencer's malnourished frame was littered with cuts, bruises, and small circular burn marks. Some of them looked faded, but others were red and irritated. Hotch lost count at fifteen. "Spencer…your father did this to you?" he asked, his voice low, anger bubbling tenaciously.

Spencer nodded miserably and dropped his head back onto his arms. Hotch looked at Haley. She nodded in grim acceptance, slowly leaving the room. Hotch continued to comfort Spencer, but the boy was nearly inconsolable. Sighing resolutely, he left the room, shutting the door quietly. Haley stood outside with the doctor. "Hello agent Hotchner, I'm Dr. Matterson. I'm going to be Spencer's primary. Now I reviewed his…wealth of x-rays. We found about two broken ribs, one of which was the culprit for puncturing his lungs during surgery last night. Beyond those, I'd have to say this is the most egregious case of child abuse I've ever seen. He's suffered a comminuted fracture of his right ankle, like somebody had stomped on it hard. It's partially healed over so we're going to have to do at least one surgery or he'll be left with a pretty bad limp. He has a transverse fracture on his left wrist, which looks like a defensive injury. Beyond several other smaller broken bones that we can set, he's got more cuts and lacerations than any seven-year-old I've ever seen. His surgeon has stitched up not just his neck but about a dozen smaller wounds. And surprisingly, this isn't the end. There is… clear evidence of prolonged sexual abuse."

Hotch inhaled sharply. This is exactly what he had been hoping hadn't happened to the little boy in the other room. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "How long?"

"At least a year. He's got tearing that's been reopened and scarring that dates back at least that far."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his hardest to keep his temper reigned in. "Is there anything that monster _didn't_ do to Spencer?"

The doctor nodded solemnly. "He didn't feed Spencer too well either. In terms of the growth development curve, he's not even on the lower end. He's slightly under 3 and a half feet and the average seven-year-old boy is around 4 feet. Furthermore, he's only in the first percentile for BMI for kids his age. He's only 30 pounds."

Hotch nodded mutely. He was exceptionally glad that he was not on this case, because staying objective at this point was a glimmer in his eye. As he was about to go back into Spencer's room, the doctor caught his arm. "Agent Hotchner. I would strongly recommend that Spencer meet with our pediatric mental health team. This volume of abuse is astronomical and it is crucial that we attend to not only his physical injuries, but the mental damage his father inflicted at well."

"We will be returning to D.C as soon as Spencer is fit, but I will make it my number one priority to find someone out there."

Hotch walked back into Spencer's room. The boy had soothed himself into a fitful sleep. Hotch closed the door and turned to the nurse's station. "Hi, I need to run back to my hotel to freshen up and grab a few things. Can you call me if anything else changes in Spencer's condition or if he wakes up?" he asked, sliding a business card over to the young nurse.

She nodded cheerfully and Hotch walked out of the hospital. Back at his hotel, he showered and brushed his teeth. Feeling cleaner and more awake, he grabbed his laptop bag and requested a cab from the front desk. After about fifteen minutes, a faded yellow cab appeared in front of the hotel. Hotch gathered his things and climbed inside. "Hello, can I please go to Summerlin Hospital?" he asked politely.

The cab driver smiled. "Sure sir," and started driving away.

His phone started buzzing as soon as the taxi started moving. "Hi David. It's great that you solved the case. No, no I'm not sure when I'll be back. I caught, well, something out here and it's going to be a while. Hey do you know if Penelope is still in the office? She is? I'll call her right away."

He hung up on David and immediately dialed Penelope's office number. "Penelope's Never-ending Knowledge Service," a perky voice answered.

"Penelope, it's Hotch. I'd like you to look into a few more things for me, again, confidentially," he said lowly, hoping the divider was soundproof.

"Sure thing boss-man," she said cheerfully.

"Alright. Please look into the local child psychiatrists in the D.C area and good therapeutic programs. I'd also like some information on homeschooling and gifted programs in the D.C school systems."

Penelope paused. "Sir? Can I ask about the nature of these searches?" she queried tentatively.

She could hear Hotch catch his breath on the phone. "I came out to Summerlin to do an extensive investigation into William Reid and his son. When I went to go check on them in their home….I had found the son, Spencer…chained to a fence, beaten and starved. I have been given emergency custody over Spencer, and as soon as he is better, we're coming home to D.C," he explained.

Penelope felt tears stinging in the corner of her eyes. She recalled the picture of the frail boy she found. She pictured him beaten and bloody, and before she could lose control of her emotions, she banished the image from her mind. "Yes sir, that's an adequate explanation."

Hotch smiled. "And Penelope, Clark County social worker Haley Brooks requested a full copy of my records. If you could please fax her my FBI employment file, my background checks, and my recent physical reports. If you could also fax her my tax records from last year that would be wonderful."

Penelope typed heatedly at Hotch's request. "Got it sir, I will call you when I'm done with everything," she said cheerily, ending the call.

Hotch put his phone away as the car pulled up at the hospital. Adjusting his bag, he walked through the sliding doors. Making his way back to the PICU, Hotch walked into Spencer's room. The small boy was slowly waking up from his nap. He smiled up at Hotch. "'Lo agent," he said softly.

"Hi Spencer. How was your nap?" Hotch asked kindly, seating himself on the couch.

The young boy stretched out as much as he could. "'m okay." He wanted to ask Hotch if he talked to the social worker about D.C but he didn't know how safe it would be to ask questions. One of his father's number one rules was "No questions."

Hotch could sense the young man had a question in mind. And he was willing to bet he knew what it was. "I talked to Ms. Brooks. She said that until your father is caught, you can stay with me."

For the very first time, Hotch saw Spencer completely smile. The boy grinned from ear to ear for a second, but it quickly fell. "What's wrong?" Hotch asked concernedly.

Spencer tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth. "What happens after my dad is caught?" he inquired softly.

Hotch moved to sit near Spencer. "Spencer. I asked Ms. Brooks if she could also help expedite the…the adoption process. If you're okay with that."

Spencer's eyes widened. "So…so you can be my father?" he asked incredulously, with hope in his eyes.

Hotch nodded. "I can be your father," he said softly.

Spencer smiled again. "I would like to be your son, agent Hotchner sir."

Hotch brushed hair out of the young boy's eyes. "I would like that too," he said fondly, grasping Spencer's hand.

He wasn't entirely sure of every exact detail, but Hotch knew he would do his best to ensure Spencer- his _son_ \- would have the life he deserved.

A/N: I wasn't sure how to end this, but I promise Spencer won't be in the hospital for much longer, and that the other characters will make a debut!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Fall break means more time to write 3 and procrastinate on planning my wedding haha

The next several days, Dr. Matterson spent preparing Spencer for the surgery on his ankle. The boy was young, which was a very positive thing in terms of healing. Dr. Matterson called in a pediatric orthopedic specialist, who evaluated Spencer's range of motions. The specialist came to the conclusion that the boy would need two surgeries, one to set the broken bones with pins and screws, and another to get the pins and screws removed. Spencer was on a strict regime of antibiotics, but after about three days, he was cleared for surgery. After the surgery, both Spencer and Hotch would fly back to D.C. Dr. Matterson had already made several calls to contact professionals at Children's National, the local pediatric hospital in D.C. He compiled a file of specialists and programs and gave it to agent Hotchner the night after Haley Brooks faxed over the official affidavit declaring Hotch as Spencer's temporary legal guardian. Hotch had several conversations with Unit Chief Jason Gideon, informing him of his new parental status and updating him continuously on his new charge.

Over those few days, Hotch had taken upon himself the task of getting to know his new _son_. He purchased a small travel sized chess board and presented it to Spencer one evening. He saw Spencer's face light up in a way like never before. After beating the profiler soundly over dinner, Hotch asked Spencer what he enjoyed doing the most. Spencer looked at him with a look of complete confusion, as if doing things for enjoyment was a foreign concept for the young man. Hotch's heart sank, and he made a note to ensure that this would no longer be the case. The past several days were progressively less exciting. Spencer had been fitted into a cast on his left wrist. He also had a sling on his right arm to stabilize a broken collarbone. Four of his ten fingers had splints, and the doctor recommended a wheelchair for the first few weeks after Spencer's surgery.

Spencer sat in his room with Hotch. It was breakfast time, and for the first time since he was rescued, he was not eating. The hospital had ordered that he fast after midnight on the day of his ankle surgery, which, was today. He nervously played with the edge of his blanket. He seemed more anxious about this surgery than the one he had before. Hotch was sitting on the edge of Spencer's bed, watching the young boy tear through the books he bought in the hospital gift shop. Hotch observed the small boy, squinting at the pages and thumbing through them faster than he, as an adult, would. _I'm going to have to buy him some glasses_ , Hotch thought as the boy shoved the book so close to his face, his nose nearly brushed the pages. After Spencer put down the last of twelve books, Dr. Watson walked into his room, joined by the anesthesiologist. Spencer still habitually avoided eye contact with most adults, but nodded slightly when the surgeon asked him if he felt okay and was ready to proceed. Before the anesthesiologist could administer the premedication, Spencer looked up bashfully. "C-can Hotch watch again?" he asked softly.

Dr. Watson smiled warmly. "Of course he can," she said, noting Spencer's relieved expression.

Hotch put his hand on Spencer's shoulder. He squeezed it gently. The anesthesiologist injected the sedative into Spencer's IV. Hotch watched his _son_ slowly drift off. Dr. Watson nodded approvingly and several techs flooded the room, wheeling Spencer into surgery. A nurse escorted Hotch into the observation room and he took a seat behind the thick pane of glass. Just as Dr. Watson was joined by the pediatric orthopedic specialist, Hotch felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Stepping out of the observation room, he answered it quickly. "Hey Gideon. Yeah, I shouldn't be out here much longer. Thanks for calling the other day. Spencer is going in for a surgery on his ankle. We should be back after the weekend if everything goes well. Yes, I want him to meet the team too, but maybe after he gets situated at the apartment. Of course- I- no you don't have to do that sir, we were just going to fly out of McCarran. Yes- yes I suppose it would be easier to just- Yes I see your point, there are less people that way. And the whole team is willing to help cover the cost? Yes- I suppose he could meet them then. Alright, I'll let you know."

Hotch hung up hastily and reentered the surgical observation room. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, and an immense sense of relief washed over him. A few hours later, a nurse retrieved him. "Spencer will be moved to our non-intensive pediatric section since he's doing so well," she informed him. "We thought it would be best to make this transition during his surgery."

"That must mean he is no longer at risk of severe infection or…or worse," Hotch said, pleased.

The nurse smiled at him. "Yeah, Dr. M said that Spencer is a strong kid, and that his path to recovery had been remarkable."

Hotch swelled with pride. "He is strong. And I know it'll take a lot longer than this, but I'm going to do my best to make sure he recovers."

She beamed at him. After showing him into Spencer's new room, she smiled and closed the door. Hotch waited patiently for his son's return. After an hour, a team of techs rolled a very groggy Spencer into his hospital room. They put a neon blue cast on his leg, extending from just below his knee to his toes. Covered in all that plaster, Spencer looked even thinner, and the swelling of his broken bones looked obscene. Hotch gave the boy a smile, which was weakly reciprocated. "Hi buddy, you can take a nap if you're tired," Hotch said gently, ruffling his son's greasy unkempt hair.

Spencer grinned gratefully at the older man, and let his head loll to the side, drifting off into a painless sleep. At quarter past four, Spencer's eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was a blurry agent Hotchner, flipping through a stack of files. He blinked a few times, and squinted. "What are you reading?" he asked, voice coming out raspy and hoarse.

Hotch looked up, alarmed. When he saw that Spencer was awake, he smiled warmly. "Hi Spence. I'm just reading a few things the doctor put together for me," he explained, gesturing to his current file. "They're mostly recommendations for doctors and programs in D.C," he elaborated, when Spencer furrowed his brow.

"Can I help choose?" the boy asked hopefully, praying that Hotch wouldn't sneer at him for making such a suggestion.

Hotch chuckled to himself. What a unique boy Spencer was. It wasn't quite normal to allow your 7-year-old charge to have an opinion in your selection of medical professionals, but Hotch knew that Spencer was no normal 7-year-old, and if Spencer helped choose, he might trust his selections a bit better. "Of course buddy. We can look more when we leave for D.C."

"When do I get to go home?" Spencer inquired.

Hotch scratched his chin. "If we're lucky, after the weekend is out."

Spencer urgently wanted to dance around the room, but for obvious reasons, was limited. "Are- are we flying?" he asked nervously.

Hotch studied the anxious boy thoughtfully. "Well, you see. I was going to have us fly out of the McCarran airport, I was even looking at flights. But my boss, Unit Chief Gideon- "

"You work with _the_ Jason Gideon from _the_ Behavioral Analysis Unit?" Spencer blurted out, slapping a hand over his mouth quickly. "Sorry sir. Sorry. Sorry for interrupting," he apologized quickly, avoiding Hotch's gaze.

Hotch reached out gently to cup Spencer's face. "You're fine Spencer, it's okay. It's okay to ask questions," he reminded the boy softly. "But yes. I work for the BAU and I still report to Jason Gideon."

Spencer's eyes widened considerably. "Sir. That's amazing. I've always wanted to meet him. And David Rossi. I've read all his books," his voice filled with enthusiasm.

Hotch winced internally. _Great, more filling for Dave's ego_ , he thought dryly. "Well, as I was saying. We were going to take a plane back home, but my boss, agent Gideon, suggest that we use the company jet. We both figured that'd be more comfortable for you, as there would be less people on the jet than at the airport. Is that okay, Spencer?"

Spencer could hardly contain his enthusiasm. "Yes sir, that's fine with me," he managed to say in a semi-monotonous tone. Although he knew agent Hotchner was much nicer than his father, he did not want to test his limits and disappoint his _new_ father.

Hotch smiled at his son approvingly. "Good man," he said proudly, ruffling Spencer's mop of hair. "Is there anything you need right now?" he asked his son.

Spencer's face reddened slightly as his stomach made itself apparent. Hotch laughed. "Hungry are we?"

Spencer nodded sheepishly. Hotch gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. "Me too," he said, before seeking out a nurse.

The next two days flew by. Spencer's follow up appointment with the orthopedic surgeon went excellently. At three PM, exactly one week from his admittance, Spencer was wheeled out of Summerlin Hospital in a brand new t shirt and shorts that Hotch had purchased him from the local mall. Hotch had purchased a wheelchair of their own with light up wheels. Spencer was moved carefully from the hospital's chair into the taxi. He sighed deeply and leaned against Hotch, who climbed into the other side. Bags were backed neatly in the trunk, including a small bag that contained some possessions that officer Harding managed to salvage from the Reid family home. Most of these items were books, with a spare stuffed animal and a tattered old baby quilt. Hotch directed the cabbie to McCarran Airport. When they arrived, Spencer was placed into his new wheel chair. Hotch swung his duffel bag and Spencer's tattered tote bag over his shoulders. Grasping the wheelchair, he started wheeling Spencer towards the security lane. Meeting a tall man in a black suit with an FBI badge, Hotch greeted the man. "Hello Captain Ainsley," he said pleasantly, giving the man one of his rare smiles. Bending down next to Spencer's wheelchair, the boy had ducked his head down again. "Spencer, this is Captain James Ainsley. He flies the plane for the BAU," he said gently.

"Hi," Spencer whispered quietly, eyes glued to the shiny linoleum airport floor.

Captain Ainsley kneeled down to Spencer's level. Digging into his coat pocket, he produced a shiny pin. "Hi Spencer. I got you some junior pilot wings. Your dad told me you were mighty smart, so I bet you know a lot about airplanes," the man said, offering Spencer the small gift.

Spencer lifted his head slightly. Through his long bangs, he could see the captain's kind, unwavering eyes. "Thank you," he said softly, taking the pin and examining it with admiration.

Captain Ainsley smiled fondly at the boy. "This way Hotch, I've had the airport reserve a special security lane for an hour. After that we can wheel Spencer out onto the tarmac and get you guys back home to D.C."

Hotch thanked the pilot gratefully. Placing the bags on the conveyor belt and removing his phone, shoes, wallet, and keys, he pushed Spencer into the x-ray tube. Spencer lifted his casted arm and the machine whirred. TSA nodded the young man through. Hotch pushed him out and took his own place, separating his feet and placing his hands above his head. After clearing security, Captain Ainsley carried the two bags while Hotch wheeled Spencer through the airport. The young boy was slightly overwhelmed by the wealth of noise that surrounded him, and did his best to avoid eye contact with people, which was proving to be difficult because _everyone was staring at him_. After what seemed like forever, Captain Ainsley had escorted them into a private terminal. Spencer was wheeled through the jet bridge. Before he could be wheeled onto the plane, Hotch bent down to look at Spencer again. "Remember what we talked about the other day, Spence? About how a lot of my team helped us get the jet today, and they want to come meet you?"

Spencer looked at Hotch. His face was determined, but Hotch could see a flicker of fear in his eyes. "I'll be with you all the time, and I'll be sitting right next to you. If you need anything or if anything overwhelms you, I want you to squeeze my hand- ok buddy?"

Spencer nodded quickly. He held his breath as Hotch slowly wheeled him onto the large jet. He beat down the tendril of anxiety that fought to rise in his chest. His eyes widened as he was rolled into the passenger area. A heap of presents was stacked precariously near the rear end of the plane. Spencer craned his neck to look at Hotch. Was it his father's birthday? Where would he go while the adult celebrated? His father normally made him go into the basement, but there wasn't anywhere to go on the place. He looked at his father desperately before quickly ducking his head down to avoid any eye contact. There were half a dozen smiling adults sitting on the plane, beaming at him. Fear crept into his throat, and he grasped the armrests of his chair spasmodically, fearing for the worst.

Hotch, sensing the uneasiness emanating from his new son, leaned down. "This is for you Spencer," he whispered kindly. "My team was so excited to meet you."

Hotch situated Spencer's wheelchair and strapped him into the plane. Spencer was still looking at his lap, fidgeting with the blanket spread across it. The plane slowly made its way down the tarmac. As it arched off the ground and set off into the sky, Spencer clutched Hotch's hand like his life depended on it. _Those presents aren't for me,_ he thought savagely. _Dirty filthy freaks don't deserve presents. Normal little boys get presents. Not me_. He was interrupted mid thought by a slim woman with blonde hair. She was the first to approach him. In her hands was a heavy package wrapped attractively with a festive bow on top. "Hi Spencer," she whispered kindly. "My name is Jennifer. You can call me J.J. I was so excited to hear you're coming to stay in D.C. I have a son your age, his name is Henry, maybe you'd like to play with him sometime," she continued. "I got you this because your father said you loved to read about dinosaurs." She deposited the gift carefully on Spencer's lap.

Spencer froze. The present was so delicately wrapped he was positive it wasn't for him. He was about to hand it back to her when Hotch placed large, comforting hands on top of his own. "Let me help you with that," he said amiably, guiding Spencer's hands over the package. Hotch tenderly helped Spencer unwrap the gift. Slowly, the pair pulled off the bow and picked off the wrapping paper. Revealed, was a shiny tome. Etched into the book jacket was the title, _The Complete Illustrated Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs and Prehistoric Creatures._

Spencer's jaw dropped. He had seen a copy of this at the library, but it was tattered and torn, missing a sizeable number of pages. This book was brand new, and… all _his_? He looked up for the first time during the flight. Making eye contact with J.J, he smiled. "Th-thank you miss," he said gratefully, clutching the book to his chest.

J.J smiled at the boy. The next person to cautiously approach the child was David Rossi. He had a very large gift bag, that Hotch realized, was stuffed to the brim. "Hello young man," Dave said.

Spencer resisted the urge to ask Dave a million questions- about him, his books, the cases he worked on, and instead choose to lift his head to look David in the eye. "H-hello sir," he stuttered fearfully. Of all the people on the plane, Spencer found Dave and Jason the most intimidating.

David gave him a rare smile. "I didn't know what little boys like the most these days, but I got you some of everything," he said, setting the bag at the foot of Spencer's chair.

Spencer made brief eye contact with Hotch, being exceptionally careful not to make the slightest move without express permission. Hotch kneeled down and lifted the bag so Spencer could dig into it. Most children would tear into it and send tissue paper flying across the jet. But this was Spencer. He carefully picked the paper out of the bag and set it down on the jet floor in a neat pile. _Less for me to clean when we land_ , he thought to himself. The first thing he dug out of the bag was a themed set of Star Wars Legos. Eyes as wide as saucers, he turned to the Italian profiler. "Th-th-thank you so much sir," he stuttered in awe, hand ghosting over the picture on the box.

David chuckled. "There are a few more things in there for you," he said, coaxing Spencer to dig his arm deeper into the bag.

Spencer nodded mutely. He dipped his hand back in, and with great difficulty, pulled out a sophisticated, wooden chess set. He looked at his father speechlessly. Hotch smiled at him. "I told Dave how much you loved to play," he explained, setting the chess set onto the box of Legos. Spencer blushed furiously. "I think there's one more thing in here," Hotch said.

Spencer couldn't believe anything could be better than the chess set and the box of Legos. Nonetheless, he dug down into the bag and pulled out another thick tome. _The Complete Rossi Collection: An Anthology of David Rossi's Work_. Opening the front cover was a neatly inscribed message. "Spencer- it's so nice to have you in the BAU's family. Love, Uncle Dave"

Spencer's head snapped up. His eyes brimmed with tears as the senior FBI agent smiled at him approvingly. "We are so glad to have you Spencer," he said fondly.

Spencer couldn't speak, but he blinked away his tears because as agent Rossi stepped backwards, a woman in a loud pink dress stepped forwards. Blond curls bounced around her face as she handed him another package. This package was a rectangular box, adorned in Dr. Who wrapping paper. Spencer looked for his father's signal, and once he received it, began unwrapping his newest gift. Another box of Legos was revealed, this time with a Doctor Who theme. Spencer grinned toothily at the lady. "Thank you Ms.…" he paused, feeling foolish. He had taken a present from her hands and unwrapped it all before asking for her name. He was so selfish! He turned a shade of red.

The lady did not yell at him for not knowing. She merely smiled back and clasped her well-manicured hands together. "I'm so glad you like it Spencer. My name is Penelope."

Spencer nodded, still flushed. He placed his newest treasure with the others. Penelope retreated and Spencer was faced with two more people. They each held a card. "Hi Spencer," the woman said warmly. "I'm agent Prentiss. But you can call me Emily," she said, bestowing the boy with a casualty that even few of her coworkers had. "Your dad told me you like books. And I know he'll be putting a bookshelf in your room. I didn't want to get you a book you've read already or something you wouldn't like, so I got you this." She handed him the card.

Spencer's hands shook as he slowly opened the envelope. Slipping the card out, he smiled at the generic pleasantries. Inside, was a gift card for Barnes and Nobles. When he read the amount, his eyes widened again. He looked at Emily quickly, thanking her gratefully. The man beside her, stepped in. "Hi Pretty Boy," he said jokingly. "Your dad was sending us pictures over the last couple of days and boy are you handsome," he complimented.

Spencer blushed furiously. "My name is Derek Morgan, but you can call me Uncle Derek. I actually had the gift card idea before Emily, and I just wanted that on the record," he teased, handing Spencer a similar envelope.

Spencer opened it and smiled. Thanking Derek, he handed both cards to his father. The last person in the jet approached him. Spencer immediately recognized the man as Jason Gideon, but he knew better than to talk. Ducking his head down again, he bit his bottom lip as he waited for someone to yell at him for making a mess, or assuming that he deserved anything that he got to unwrap. Instead, Jason handed him a smaller gift bag. Spencer took it gratefully. Receiving the signal from his father, who, true to his word had not left his side. Spencer unveiled a stuffed bear with an FBI shirt. He then pulled out another shirt to match, in Spencer's size. Spencer looked up at Jason wordlessly. He thanked him, practically oozing with gratitude. _Agent Gideon's son must have grown really quickly for this shirt to be this nice. My dad never bought me new clothes, always made me wear his old t-shirts._ Hotch smiled and took the gifts from Spencer, placing them next to the others. "Thank you, all of you, for your generosity and support," Hotch paused, electing to use directness and honesty when choosing his next words. "This is very new, to both Spencer and myself, but I can honestly say, that I am overjoyed and honored to have Spencer as a son," he looked at the boy fondly.

Spencer hid behind his hair again shyly, nodding in agreement with his new father. After thanking everyone once more, he settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. The adults smiled approvingly, and started a conversation in hushed tones. Within the hour, the plane had touched down on the tarmac. Hotch gently unbuckled Spencer's wheelchair, and Spencer bent to the side, struggling to pick up the stray remnants of wrapping paper. Penelope bustled over. "Oh honey you don't have to do that," she said, gently brushing Spencer's hand away.

Spencer looked at her in muted surprise. "But, but how will I earn my presents?" he asked softly.

His words hit Penelope like an anvil, and she felt her chest tighten as she looked at the battered youth. "Honey," her voice was soft and sympathetic. "You don't _earn_ presents. We gave those to you to welcome you to our family. And you don't need to do anything because we gave them to you."

Spencer looked at her, confused. "F-for nothing?" he asked, eyebrow quirking as he struggled to understand the concept.

Penelope's chest ached at the little boy's bewildered expression. She decided to make it her mission to shower him in presents and love as often as she can, so he would no longer feel this way. "For nothing, sweetie pie," she confirmed, reaching out hesitantly. When Spencer didn't flinch, she gave his shoulder a soft squeeze.

Hotch smiled at his new son. "Spencer, there's no jet bridge here, so I'm going to have to carry you down the stairs before I can put you in your chair again, is that okay?"

Spencer looked at his father and nodded. He outstretched his "good" arm. Hotch carefully scooped the boy out of the chair. "Hold on," he whispered to his new son, who had his casted arm wrapped around his neck.

Spencer didn't need to be told twice. His grip was as tight as it could be for a 7-year-old with a broken wrist, and he leaned his head into Hotch's chest. Hotch gently stepped down the stairs and onto the launch pad. Gideon was right behind the pair, carrying Spencer's wheel chair and setting it at the bottom of the steps, making sure to put on the brakes. Hotch slipped Spencer into the chair and laid the blanket over his lap. Hotch wheeled him into the FBI headquarters, and chuckled to himself as the boy struggled to take in all his surroundings. Exiting the FBI, Hotch was grateful that someone, probably Penelope, had arranged for his car to be brought to Quantico. He smiled at the brand new car seat in the back seat, a large red ribbon attached. He turned to Jason, who merely smiled at him. "I knew you wouldn't have time to get one on your own when you were in Vegas. So David and I indulged."

Hotch gave Gideon a gracious smirk. He leaned over to peek at Spencer in his chair, and found that the boy had yet again, fallen asleep. Opening the backseat, he smiled down at his son before gently placing him in his new car seat. Spencer didn't even blink once.

Once he got his son settled, Hotch got into the front seat and started driving home. He couldn't help himself from glancing at his new son in the rearview mirror. Smiling, just to himself, he couldn't help but feel a sense of completion as the little boy snoozed in the back. He couldn't contain the joy he felt, the joy at having someone to share his life with, and the joy of having such a gifted little boy to call _his_ son. He didn't know he was crying until his vision blurred and his cheeks were wet. Blinking away tears, he inhaled shakily, stealing one last glance at Spencer. _Finally, he can live the life he deserves_.

A/N: So I started writing this chapter and apparently couldn't stop! It became way longer than I thought it would XD Spencer has now been introduced to the team. And to those of you wondering- no Haley will not be a central character in this. She's going to show up again, but she will have no relationship with Hotch, romantic or otherwise. I've tried to maintain a high level of accuracy in writing this, and having a potential adoptive dad become involved with his social worker just isn't right XD


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi guys! The next few chapters (I'm not sure how many) are going to be Hotch and Reid adjusting to living in Hotch's apartment, and lots of father-son bonding. Several nightmares creep in, as well as a small update on William Reid's situation.

Spencer's eyes fluttered open softly. He squinted as the sun gleamed through the curtains. He sighed softly, stretching himself out on the bed, before slowly realizing that he _was_ on a bed. He whimpered fearfully, doing his best to scramble out of the four poster. He landed on the carpeting with a soft thump and a hard twinge in his bound ankle. He knew that freaks weren't allowed on the furniture- as they would taint it with their filth. He hobbled around the room, examining the tall windows and the sky blue walls. There was a tall four poster bed behind him, with a nightstand to match. A walk in closet was on the other side of the room. Spencer didn't know how he got into this bedroom but he knew agent Hotchner would be very angry if he found out Spencer had been sleeping in a bed. Spencer limped out of the bedroom and peered down the hallway. Slowly, he walked into a spacious living room. It was very well put together with a large leather couch and a matching recliner. A coffee table was in front of the couch with several magazines spread out tastefully. The large TV was attached to the wall, and Spencer grimaced slightly at the idea of climbing onto the adjacent fireplace to try and dust it. He turned to the kitchen, pleased to find that there was a small pile of dishes in the sink. He knew that even if agent Hotchner wasn't home, the older man would want a clean house by his return. Spencer frowned as he realized he couldn't see over the sink. He looked around thoughtfully, before noticing the tall-backed dining room chairs. _As long as I don't scratch the hardwood_ , Spencer told himself. He wobbled over and picked up the chair with great difficulty. He carried it precariously back to the sink. The twinging in his ankle had escalated to a sharp throbbing. A small bead of sweat inched its way down his cheek as Spencer struggled to heave his inactive leg onto the chair. When he finally managed, he turned to the sink and turned on the water. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" a voice exclaimed from across the room.

Spencer stumbled and nearly fell off the chair. He caught himself by grasping the edge of the sink. Quickly scrambling off the chair, he stood in front of a bewildered agent Hotchner with his head bowed. "I'm sorry sir! I wasn't fast enough. I didn't ever realize we got off the plane and I didn't know what time I had to wake up and-"

"Fast enough with what?" Hotch interjected firmly, but kindly.

Spencer peered at Hotch through his fringe. "With- with the dishes sir," he said miserably. Spencer knew what happened next and he was ashamed of himself for disappointing his new father so soon. He was an awful son.

Hotch made sure to approach Spencer slowly, making sure not to come off too intimidating. "Spence, buddy, you don't have to do the dishes here. You won't have any chores until you're feeling better, okay buddy? Remember? I told you that you didn't need to do anything to earn your place here? The room you woke up in, that's your new room. That's your space."

Spencer eyed Hotch dubiously. "But my da- I mean William always told me that nothing ever comes for free and that if I didn't want to come off as ungrateful, I would contribute to the household."

Hotch fought the inane urge to roll his eyes. _What a stupid thing to tell a seven-year-old,_ he thought savagely. Instead, he inched himself closer to the little boy perched insecurely on one of his dining room chairs. "Spencer. He was wrong. You don't have to earn your keep," he reassured, holding out his arms.

Spencer looked at him skeptically. _Why is he holding out his arms? Does he want the chair? That's probably it_. Wordlessly, he tried to pick up the chair, but Hotch put a firm hand on it before he could try. "Spencer. I want to pick you up so I can put you in a chair at the kitchen table so I can make breakfast for you."

Spencer's face flushed. _Of course he didn't want his chair back, you moron. You're the worst son ever._ Embarrassed, he let Hotch collect him into his sturdy arms. Hotch pulled out a chair from his kitchen table. Depositing Spencer into it, he turned to the young boy. "How about some eggs and pancakes for breakfast buddy?"

Spencer's eyes widened. He knew that in the hospital, they had to let their patients eat, but he never imagined that his new father would let him have breakfast their first day together. He stared at the table while he listened to the hiss of the stove. Before he knew it, Hotch placed a full plate of food in front of his son. Spencer lifted his head slightly, the plate at eye level. Hotch chuckled to himself. "Need some help buddy?" he asked kindly.

Spencer nodded his head despondently, eyes brimming with tears. _I'm so stupid, I can't even eat breakfast without my new dad needing to do something for me_. Hotch grabbed a phone book. When he saw Spencer, his eyes bright with terror, he just smiled at the boy. "Come here, kiddo." He opened his arms and gently lifted the boy into his arms. Placing the phonebook on the table, he put Spencer back on the chair. This time, the boy was able to see over the table.

Hotch frowned as the battered boy attempted to spoon eggs into his mouth. Spencer was experiencing massive difficulties using his casted arm to eat. Hotch quietly slid into the chair next to Spencer and pulled his plate towards him. Spencer was filled with a sense of sadness. _You knew it was too good to be true- you never get fresh breakfast,_ he scolded himself. But instead of laughing at him, Hotch merely started cutting up his food. With the kindest smile Spencer has ever seen directed at _him_ , Hotch lifted the spoon towards his mouth. Spencer opened his mouth hesitantly, and his father gently slipped a bite of eggs into his mouth. Spencer chewed tentatively, unsure of what trick might have been played on him today. When the food didn't taste weird or tainted, he looked at Hotch. The man merely smiled as he scraped up a new spoonful of pancakes. The corners of Spencer's mouth quirked upward into his rare smile.

After breakfast, Hotch had helped Spencer back into the bathroom. "Spencer. When was the last time you took a bath?" he asked gently.

Spencer squinted at Hotch, almost as if he didn't understand the question. "Sir? Fath- I mean William used to let me use the hose every evening. But I mostly used it to wash away my, my uhm, _stuff_ ," he whispered scandalously.

Hotch figured Spencer was referring to his bodily waste, and his heart sank when he realized the boy was deprived of yet another simple comfort. "Well, you have your own bathroom here. And, while I should probably help you out the first couple of weeks, you'll be able to bathe every day if you'd like."

Spencer then gave Hotch a look that would haunt the older man for the rest of his life. The smaller boy looked so grateful for such a basic privilege. "Would you like to take a bath right now?"

Spencer nodded his head vigorously. "But, what about my casts?" he asked, holding up his arm and leg.

Hotch produced two cast protectors that he was given at Spencer's discharge. "I'm going to have to sit by you and help you out, okay?" he said sternly, taping the protectors over Spencer's leg and arm. He carried the boy into the guest restroom. "I'm going to help you get undressed, ok bud?"

Hotch knew it was easier if he told Spencer ahead of time, rather than just undressing the boy. Gently, he removed the boy's sling. He pulled the boy's shirt off with care. After carefully peeling off Spencer's shorts, the boy was left shivering on the bathroom sink. Hotch turned on the water, adjusting it to a warm temperature. He lifted Spencer off the sink and gently placed him in the bathtub. Pulling the curtain half-closed, he sat on the toiler. "This is so you can still have your privacy," he explained.

Spencer, relieved, nodded at Hotch. "Th-th-thank you sir," he said, sinking down slightly into the water.

The water washed over Spencer's body and lapped at his sores. He sighed contently as some pain was relieved in his bruised and injured body. He peered at Hotch hesitantly. "S-sir? Can I have some soap please?" he asked timidly.

Hotch nodded, reaching into the sink cabinet. Extracting a washcloth, he squeezed a generous amount of body wash onto it. "I'm going to have to help you, Spence, you're not supposed to move your other arm," he said softly.

Spencer bobbed his head slightly, giving the elder man permission. Hotch placidly washed Spencer. The water quickly turned gray, but instead of yelling at Spencer for being dirty, Hotch just ran some more water and drained the dirty water. He took great care to wash behind Spencer's ears, and the back of his neck. Both areas look like they've never even seen soap. Hotch glided over the stitches in his neck. A few minutes later, he was wringing the washcloth out into the sink. Picking up a cup that was left of the sink, he turned to the newly cleaned Spencer. "I have to rinse you off now," he explained, turning on the faucet and running warm water into the cup.

He poured the water over the boy's torso, revealing pale skin. He moved onto the shampoo, massaging the child's scalp and avoiding his eyes. "Son, can I turn on the shower so we can rinse out your hair?"

"O-okay," Spencer said hesitantly, flinching involuntarily as the warm water doused his face.

Hotch ran his fingers through Spencer's hair, making sure that all the shampoo was washed out. After he finished, he pulled a fluffy towel out of the cabinet. Engulfing the little boy, Hotch lifted him out of the tub. Carrying him into the guest room- into Spencer's _new room_. He set the boy on the bed, and toweled him off. "I have one more change of clothes for you, Spence. I was hoping today we could go shopping."

Spencer, with great difficulty, had guided his head back into the FBI shirt agent Gideon had given him. Wincing, he placed his arm through his shirt. "Shopping for what sir?" he asked, as agent Hotchner helped his free arm back into the sling.

"We need to buy you more clothes, and I was hoping we could get you some toys to play with," Hotch explained, cautiously peeling the cast protector's off Spencer. Helping the little boy into a pair of boxers and shorts, he was met with a confused gaze.

"Toys sir? I'm not allowed to-" Spencer began, but Hotch placed a farm hand on his shoulder.

"You're allowed to here," Hotch said. Before standing, he paused. "And, Spencer. If you're comfortable doing so. I'd like it if you called me dad."

Spencer beamed at his father. However, his expression fell quickly. "S-sir. Clothes are expensive and I'm not really worth-"

Hotch looked at Spencer sternly, but kindly. "Spencer, please let me worry about money."

Spencer nodded dubiously. Lifting his arms, he allowed Hotch to pick him up and place him in his wheelchair. Spencer shifted himself and Hotch wheeled him out the door.

The pair was browsing the clothing at Kohl's, and Hotch had to keep steering Spencer away from the plain gray inexpensive clothing. "How about this shirt?" he asked the boy, holding up a shirt with R2D2 on it.

Spencer flashes Hotch his occasional smile. They had been at the store for little over half an hour. The lady at the cash register had given Spencer a sympathetic smile. Hotch had collected several solid colored shirts, as well as a couple polos. Hotch was now running through their licensed wear. Hotch had collected a few Star Wars shirts, garnering Spencer's approval each time. Hotch smiled at him. "Now, time to get you some pants," he declared.

Wheeling Spencer over to the pants section, Hotch studied the boy thoughtfully. "I don't want to have you try on things when your ankle is still bandaged up, so will sweatpants and elastic-waisted shorts be okay?"

Spencer nodded, grateful that he was getting warm clothes that were _new._ He never got new clothes, and never clothes that fit him so well. He clung to the bear that agent Gideon gave him and stared in awe as Hotch loaded several pairs of shorts and sweatpants into the basket. Hotch wheeled Spencer to the checkout line. Spencer avoided the cashier's gaze. "How old are you?" she asked gently.

Spencer looked up. "I'm almost eight, ma'am," he said politely, masking his fear.

Hotch smiled approvingly. The cashier nodded. "I have a son that age. He really likes Star Wars too."

Spencer smiled softly. "I like the old ones better," he said quietly.

She leaned over the counter. "Me too," she whispered, winking at him.

Hotch paid for their items and started wheeling Spencer back out to the car. "We're not done, I just didn't think you wanted to carry this around all day," he explained, opening the trunk and placing the large shopping bags inside.

Spencer couldn't help but grin as Hotch wheeled him into the Toys R Us that was sever hundred feet away.

A/N: So I decided to split their shopping up into two chapters.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Only two more days of break I hope I'm not rushing the story or making chapters too fast…. Trigger warning for child sexual assault and vivid rape

Spencer waited patiently in his living room. Hotch was lugging in bag after bag of clothes and toys. The rest of their shopping had occurred with minimal incident. Hotch had taken Spencer to both Toys R Us and a game store. When the young boy had picked out some inexpensive cheap dinosaur models, Hotch merely clucked his tongue and redirected Spencer towards the towering aisles of Legos and detailed models. After some more reassurance on Hotch's part, Spencer had picked out another set of Legos, and a junior scientist's kit. Hotch also made sure to throw in one of those "baby FBI" sets into the cart. He then steered the chair towards the colorful, electronic dinosaur models, throwing one into the cart. He added a train track set as well, to Spencer's extreme satisfaction. After checking out, Spencer sounded like a broken record, thanking Hotch over and over again. Hotch dismissed the boy kindly. After a stop at the game store, Spencer was now the proud owner of his own Go board, Monopoly, Scrabble, Trivial Pursuit, and a pack of cards with larger numbers for people with low vision. Hotch also took the initiative to purchase a very large toy chest, for all of Spencer's new things. The boy was practically vibrating with excitement as Hotch loaded the trunk. Hotch lifted Spencer back into his car seat, and the pair drove away. Hotch broke the comfortable silence with a tentative suggestion, "Hey, Spence. I was thinking we could go to McDonalds's for lunch."

Spencer smiled. "I've never been," he admitted bashfully.

Hotch's eye's widened and he masked his surprise from his new son. What seven-year-old hadn't been to McDonalds? Disregarding the obvious fact that Spencer probably hadn't been out to eat _anywhere_ in the past two years, Hotch merely said, "I'm sure you'll like it."

Spencer nodded eagerly. _Breakfast_ _ **and**_ _lunch all in the same day? Agent Hotchner sure is a nice person_ , he thought gleefully. Hotch pulled into the parking lot and carefully eased the car to a stop. Hotch stepped out of the car, collecting Spencer's wheelchair from the trunk. Helping Spencer into the chair, Hotch took Spencer into McDonalds. The boy squinted so hard at the menu, Hotch thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull. _I've got to take him to the optometrist,_ he noted to himself. Spencer looked up at him tentatively. Beckoning the agent with his casted hand, he whispered in Hotch's ear. "Can I have some milk and some fries?"

Hotch frowned. He knew he shouldn't have asked the boy to order his own food. It was clear the child would ask for little in hopes of getting any. "How about something more substantial," he suggested. "Is a Happy Meal okay?"

Spencer nodded. Hotch ordered the food before pushing Spencer to the side. The kind lady at the cash register told the couple to go sit down, and that she'd bring the food to them when it came up. Hotch obliged, pushing Spencer to a table and putting the brakes on his wheelchair. Hotch filled their cups with juice and soda respectively. Spencer drank it in large gulps, wistfully admitting that he had never had Hawaiian Punch before. Within fifteen minutes, the friendly cashier had approached their table with a tray full of food. Spencer waited to be served as Hotch opened his box and started consuming the contents. Hotch pushed over the Happy Meal container, helping Spencer open the box and taking out the burger and fries from within. Spencer began eating warily, glancing up at Hotch ever so often as if the taller man would whisk away the food any minute. Hotch took time in between bites to ask Spencer a question. "Spencer, would it be okay if we took you to get your eyes checked?"

Hotch was haunted by the boys overjoyed response. He's never seen a child so overjoyed to do something so tedious. The pair ate in a comfortable silence. Spencer savored every bite of the greasy food and Hotch watched him in amusement. "How do you like McDonalds?" Hotch asked kindly.

Spencer smacked his lips together as he sipped the last of his juice. "I like it a lot. I wouldn't eat here all the time though," he added with a frown. "The food can get kind of greasy."

Hotch nodded in amusement. "That it can," he quipped. He continued to eat, coaxing Spencer into a light conversation every now and then.

When they finished, Hotch threw away their refuse before guiding Spencer back out to the car. He could see that a question was tentatively forming on the young boy's lips. Bending down, he placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "What is it son?" he asked gently.

Spencer cleared his throat. "Uhm, I was wondering when I could get my glasses?" he asked timidly.

Hotch smiled, giving the boy a slight squeeze. "I was thinking we could go right now," he suggested, surveying Spencer's face.

Spencer's eyes lit up in delight. "Yeah that'd be brilliant," he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Hotch chuckled, easing Spencer back into his carseat. "Well then I guess we're going straight to WalMart."

Spencer was almost bouncing in excitement. Hotch slid into the driver's seat and started driving towards WalMart. In an attempt to pull Spencer further out of his shell, Hotch peppered the young boy with casual questions. "What's your favorite book?"

Spencer's eyes widened. "Oh s-sir, I don't think I could pick just one, I've loved every book I've ever read," the young man said bashfully. After a moment, he scrunched up his face, "Although, I wasn't a huge fan of _The Great Gatsby_ ," he admitted quietly, as if Hotch would scold him for such an opinion.

Hotch flashed a smile at his son. "That's not the best book in the world," he said. "Have you been to a library?"

Spencer nodded ardently. "Yes sir, I loved it there. My mom first took me there when I was three. I read every book in the children's section before the week was out. But then-" the boy faltered.

Hotch grimaced. He should've known William Reid wasn't the type to spend quality time with his son. "We can go sometime tomorrow," he said quietly, hoping that would distract Spencer.

Spencer gave Hotch a watery smile. Hotch pulled into the WalMart parking lot. He extricated Spencer from the car seat and started pushing him towards the entrance. Spencer's eyes widened as he took in the optometry display. Hotch signed the pair in, and they waited for a respective doctor to come take a look at Spencer. When a tall man with a crew cut and khaki pants called Spencer back, Spencer looked to Hotch with worry written across his face. He pulled the older man down to his level, whispering in his ear, "Can you come with me?"

Hotch nodded mutely. He pushed Spencer back to the exam room. The optometrist introduced himself as Rory. Hotch helped him into the chair, assuring him that he'd be safe. He stepped out so the optometrist would have a sufficient amount of space. The optometrist ran several tests, dilating Spencer's eyes to ensure that he didn't have any major issues. Hotch could hear muffled conversation, and smiled to himself. Spencer was truly becoming more comfortable with talking to starngers as time went on. Eventually, Rory gave the younger boy a sticker and a lollipop, waving Hotch back into the exam room to help Spencer back into his wheelchair. Hotch stepped into the exam room, and despite being comfortable and chatty, relief overwhelmed the boys small frame. "So, Mr. Hotchner. Spencer's eyes are healthy, he's just very nearsighted. I've got his prescription correct so now, all you guys need to do is pick out a pair of lenses."

Hotch gave the optometrist an appreciative nod. Hotch wheeled Spencer around the area slowly, asking the young boy to pick out a pair of frames. While the child kept redirecting himself towards the cheaper, poorly made eyewear, Hotch 'tsk'ed and pulled down a handsome black frame with gold around the rims. Spencer smiled widely in approval. "Can you pick out one more frame for emergencies?" he asked.

Spencer studied the display scrupulously. He slowly pointed to a different pair of frames, this time thin golden wires with oval lenses. Hotch smiled, taking them from Spencer's hand and approaching Rory at the cash register. "Alright, so they should be here in a few weeks, and we'll make sure to call you when they come in," Rory said, handing Hotch the receipt.

Spencer thanked Rory while he was being wheeled away. Hotch drove the pair home, where Spencer loaded his new toy chest with all his new toy. Hotch suggested Spencer put his new teddy bear on his bed, and the boy obliged happily. "I'm making spaghetti for dinner, but until then would you want to play a game?"

Hotch thought the boy would rocket out of his chair. Spencer enthusiastically picked out his new chess set, and the pair began a match. Hotch was losing soundly when the kitchen timer began beeping obnoxiously. Spencer was placed at the dinner table where he was served a generous amount of spaghetti. He waited patiently until Hotch had served himself. Eating happily, the new pair sat in a comfortable stillness. Hotch made sure to reassure Spencer numerous times that the food he was given would not be taken away, and each time, the boy gained a stronger sense of confidence. Nearing the end of the meal, Hotch gathered his courage. "Spencer. Would you be interested in changing your name once the adoption goes through?" he asked.

Spencer nearly dropped his fork. He carefully lifted his head to meet Hotch's eyes. "Si-sir?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to take my last name," Hotch suggested lightly.

Spencer blushed, but his eyes shone with consent. "I-I'd be Spencer Hotchner?" he asked.

Hotch nodded at the boy caringly. Spencer flushed with pride. "Yes sir, I'd be okay with that," he said, voice filled with pride.

"I'll be sure to make note of that next time I speak to Ms. Brooks," Hotch said.

The pair finished their meal, atmosphere warm with emotion. After dinner, Spencer was wheeled into his room where he asked to read the book that agent Jareau had gifted to him. It wasn't long after when Hotch had discovered Spencer was fast asleep in his chair, his dinosaur encyclopedia dangerously close to falling to the floor. Hotch gently removed the book from the boy's grasp, brushing hair out of his eyes. _Tomorrow we've got to get him a haircut_ , he reminded himself. Lifting Spencer, he carried his son to his room, placing him in the bed and tucking him in carefully. Before leaving the room, Hotch stole one last glance at his new son, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of the boy's head. He wandered into his kitchen, stopping himself from pouring a glass of wine. _I can't drink around Spencer. Not yet_. He sat down in the living room, file in one hand, pen in the other. Working smoothly, he started in on the application that Ms. Brooks had given him before he left Las Vegas. The questionnaire covered basic things like income and criminal history, but then delved into the personal matters. Hotch made sure to notate Spencer's desire to change his name before coming across the next question. _Why would you like to adopt a child?_

He hesitated before putting his pen to the paper. He couldn't just say that he wanted Spencer as a son, no he had to dig deep. _I have personally always wanted children. As a working man, I never knew when this could be a possibility, but I knew that the clock was always ticking in terms of having kids of my own. I want to adopt Spencer because he is the brightest young man I've ever met and I would be honored to be his father. I would like to show Spencer that life is more than the pain and suffering he's experienced for the last two years, and that there is mercy in humanity. That is not to say that I'm adopting Spencer out of pity. No, I love this child. He is a bright light in my life that's been long overdue. He brings me joy and a unique perspective to growing up. I want Spencer to be my son._ Hotch sighed and set the pen down, flexing his hand. He read onto the next question, answering each of them with an honest and raw potential. Hotch drifted off into a light sleep.

 _Spencer was home again. He blinked heavily, suddenly aware of the heavy chain wrapped around his ankle. He winced as a pang of pain rushed through his body. Before he could stand up, his father burst through the garage door. Spencer's father hovered over him, belt undone and pants around his ankles. He gave Spencer that sickeningly sweet smile before collapsing over the younger boy's fragile frame. "Shhh, shush," William would whisper into Spencer's ears. "Be a good boy," he would command, pulling Spencer's arms behind his back._

 _Flashes of white hot pain ripped into Spencer's backside as his face was shoved into the basement floor. Tears mixed with blood as they flooded freely down Spencer's face. Spencer bit his lip hard, until the warm metallic taste inundated his mouth. He knew William hated it when he cried. William. It was never father, never daddy, always William. Spencer screwed his eyes shut, imagining that he was not here, that he was back in school, that his mom was home and that his dad was nice again. After what seemed like hours, William rolled off of him. Turning on his side, he was face to face with his son. William stroked Spencer's cheek tenderly, and Spencer shivered, rejecting the touch. Tendrils of nausea threatened to rise to the surface. "You're such a pretty boy," his father murmured, index finger trailing down Spencer's cheek. "You're mine forever."_

 _Forever._

A shrill scream wafted out of Spencer's room. Hotch jerked awake, eyes bright with fear. The scream was louder this time. Pushing the papers off his lap, Hotch ran to Spencer's room, scared. He found a young boy lying on the floor, dripping with sweat. Spencer had managed to drag himself from his bed into his walk in closet. Hotch hovered over the slight figure. Spencer was shaking, tears rolling down his face. Hotch collected the smaller boy into his arms. "Shhh, Spencer, it's okay, I'm here," he whispered, pulling damp hair off of Spencer's face.

Spencer's eyes were screwed shut but he turned into Hotch's embrace. "Daddy," he whimpered, fisting Hotch's t-shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.

Hotch was definitely taken aback. _Daddy? This is the first time he's ever called me anything of the sort._ Hotch settled on the floor, Spencer drawn into his arms, shivering with fright. "Spence it's okay," Hotch crooned. "Daddy's here," he whispered. "Daddy's here."

A/N: Next chapter: Spencer gets a library card and bonds with Penelope.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry for the late update guys- I have a massive ear infection Also minor tag warning of anti-Semitism at the beginning of the chapter. I'm super busy with school too :/

William Reid hissed as he peeled back his makeshift bandage. He threw it away, hobbling over to the trash can. Running away from that FBI agent was far from easy. When he was scaling the fence into his coworker's yard, he gashed his leg. He inspected his leg closely. Part of it was scabbing over, but it was raw with irritation. Grimacing, he poured his whiskey over the wound, biting into his bottom lip too keep from crying out. Bastard brat, he thought savagely. Only his son could make him waste good liquor. He bit down as he slowly dressed the wound, which was bleeding sluggishly. His contact at the hospital reported that his disgrace of a child had been sent to D.C with that axe job FBI agent. His blood began boiling at the thought of his son being spoiled like the ungrateful brat he was. William rose to his feet, wincing. He holstered the gun he found at the home. Glancing down at the two bodies, he quietly slipped out the back door. Serves them right. Aiden shouldn't have put his large Jew nose into my business. Now my life is in shambles and my boy is with some fancy FBI agent that'll further ingratiate the little cunt. I'll get Spencer back, he vowed vehemently. He began walking stealthily, out into the expanse of sand and gravel.

The last few days entailed plenty of bonding time between Agent Hotchner and Spencer. After Spencer's first nightmare, Hotch had taken special care to keep a close eye on him, especially at bed time. He put a baby monitor into Spencer's room, vowing to do his best at being there when his son need him the most. Spencer had gotten a haircut, they picked out several DVDs, and the two forayed into the IKEA about an hour south. There, they had bought a Billy bookcase that would fit in the corner of his room. They also picked up several different accoutrements to add some personality to Spencer's room. Hotch mindfully chose a few step stools, including one that could be placed by the bottom of Spencer's bed, to give him a larger sense of independence. After adding some personal effects and his new books to his bookshelf, Spencer began settling in comfortably. He still had vivid nightmares that led to night terrors. However, at this point, he had become extremely contented with Hotch coming in to comfort him. Penelope was going to be coming over for dinner that evening, so Spencer was mildly anxious. Hotch had learned so much from his new son, including how intelligent he was. Hotch had scheduled a meeting with several elementary schools in the district, and Spencer would be tested into the appropriate grade. The pair had also stopped at the local library to apply for Spencer's very own library card. He signed it clumsily, pen nearly slipping out of his splinted fingers.

Spencer had been out of the hospital for about a week, and Hotch was also mindful about keeping up with his wound care. It was midmorning, and Spencer was sitting at the table with one of his books and a glass of orange juice. "Hey Spencer. We should probably go over doctor selection today," Hotch mentioned casually, collecting the pamphlets he had picked up earlier in the week. He placed them by Spencer's book, and the boy thumbed through them clumsily. "When do I have to have my ankle surgery?" he asked.

"In about six to eight weeks," Hotch said. "But we need to get your stitches removed sometime in the next week."

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. He reviewed each doctor, evaluating both negative and positive highlights of their care. After about fifteen minutes or so, he had picked out a Dr. Santiago and a psychiatrist, Dr. Renaud. Hotch smiled and took away the pamphlets. He called up each doctor respectively, and scheduled an appointment several weeks away. With all business set aside, Hotch asked Spencer if he would want to watch TV, and Spencer was all too eager to explore the numerous documentaries. Hotch lifted the boy and placed him on the couch.

Several hours passed, and Hotch was peacefully reading in his recliner. Spencer was watching a documentary on the Discovery Channel and quietly snacking on a bowl of Goldfish. The pair was sitting in a calm silence when Hotch's phone began ringing. Not recognizing the number, he answered tentatively. "SSA Hotchner."

"Agent Hotchner. This is detective Harding from the Summerlin PD."

Hotch straightened in his seat, reaching over for the remote and turning down the volume. Spencer did not protest, but merely turned to face his new father with intent interest. "Detective Harding, how are you doing this afternoon?" Hotch asked.

The detective frowned. He really hated to be the bringer of bad news. "I'm fine, but uh, we've received a report. William Reid has been sighted. His coworker, Aiden Brewer was found shot dead in his home with a female victim, we're assuming his date. We think it's Reid because we found his DNA on the lockbox in Aiden's bedroom. There was a Barretta that has not been recovered. We think Reid stole it. We also think he's on his way to you, to take Spencer back. We arrested a nurse, a Dale Collins for breaking the HIPAA privacy law. His supervisor caught him emailing patient files to a dummy email that we are trying to trace back to William. We have all the borders locked down and we have the airports on alert. But please be careful," the detective cautioned.

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to express a certain level of distress in front of Spencer, but he knew he had to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Thank you, detective Harding," he said, hanging up his phone.

He turned to the little boy sprawled out on his couch. He walked over to Spencer slowly, kneeling to look Spencer in the eyes. "Spence. That was the detective. He has some…. somber news," he said seriously, looking Spencer in the eyes.

Spencer worried his lower lip. "Is my father coming to get me? Are you sending me back?"

Hotch's heart sank. He brought up his hand to caress Spencer's cheek, noticing the slight flinch. "Never," he said firmly, gently rubbing his thumb under the boy's eye. "Detective Harding just called to tell me that…that they saw your dad," he breathed, hoping Spencer would be all right.

He could feel the small child tense under his grip. Hotch moved his hand to card through Spencer's thick hair. Tears were welling up in his eyes. "Spencer. I want you to tell me the truth. You won't be in trouble for doing so. But I need to know. Are you afraid of your father?"

Spencer nodded miserably. "Y'ssir. 'm super afraid," he whispered, a tear beading down his porcelain cheek.

Hotch didn't reproach him, but merely continued to provide comforting strokes to the boy's hair. "That's okay buddy," he said encouragingly. "It's completely okay."

Spencer turned to Hotch. "Sir. Is he gonna come kill me?" he asked hoarsely, his cheeks growing wet.

"I'd never let him," Hotch responded heatedly. "You are my son. You will never be hurt again," he promised Spencer.

In one of those rare moments, Spencer made eye contact with his father. "I-is it still okay if I'm scared?" he murmured.

Hotch did his best to give the boy a reassuring smile. "Absolutely."

Spencer reached over with his casted wrist to grip one Hotch's fingers. The pair sat in a comfortable silence. After fifteen minutes, Spencer timidly requested his pain medication. Hotch administered the children's Tylenol before turning the TV back on. "When is Ms. Penelope coming over?" Spencer inquired several episodes later.

Hotch checked his watch. "She should be here anytime now bud," he said. "Do you want to pick out a movie and a game to play after dinner?"

Hotch could tell Spencer was grinning. "Yes sir," he answered respectfully. He struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position. Hotch got out of the chair and eased the boy against the couch. "Can we watch that Jinx documentary about Robert Durst? And I'd like to play Trivial Pursuit please," he requested.

Hotch smiled. "The Jinx and Trivial Pursuit, you got it," he affirmed. He ruffled Spencer's hair. "I'm going to start dinner, okay bud? Do chicken nuggets and French fries sound okay?"

Spencer nodded eagerly. He then turned back to the TV. It wasn't long after when they heard a soft knocking at the door. Hotch hurried to the door and opened it. "Hi Penelope," he greeted warmly, giving her a hug.

Penelope hugged him emphatically. She was wearing a turquoise pattered dress with matching heels. Her hair fell around her face in gentle curls. She was carrying a casserole dish and a crisply wrapped box with an ornate bow. She handed off that dish to Hotch. Teetering over to Spencer in stacked heels, she greeted him. "Hi Spencer," she said, nodding at the small boy sprawled out onto the couch. She walked over to him and presented the box. "I got you another present," she said kindly.

Spencer's eyes widened. The box was placed in his lap and Spencer's fingers ghosted over the bright wrapping paper. He began tugging at the paper, tentatively, as if someone would take it away. The wrapping fell away to reveal a set of documentaries on DVD. Spencer could count at least four. He grinned up at Penelope. "Thank you miss," he said eagerly.

Penelope smiled at the boy fondly. "Call me Aunty Penelope please sweetie," she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. When Spencer didn't flinch, her heart swelled.

"Dinner's ready guys," Hotch called out from the other room "Penelope, can you help Spencer to the kitchen table?"

Penelope looked at the young boy. Spencer reached out his arms. Penelope, masking her surprise, gathered the small boy into her arms. Mindful of his dressings, she carried him judiciously to the table, setting him onto the booster seat Hotch had purchased earlier. Spencer gave Penelope a slight smile as she sat down next to him. Hotch walked over, taking their plates to dole out generous amounts of macaroni and cheese. Spencer grinned wildly at his plate. He was repeatedly surprised every time Hotch fed him a fresh meal. Hotch dished out the mashed potatoes that Penelope had brought. He smirked slightly as his son's eyes widened. Nodding curtly at Spencer, the three began eating. Spencer still began each meal with a tentativeness only found in a starved child. He would leave his spoon hovering in the air, petrified that it would be taken away from him. He would steal a quick glance at Hotch before nibbling on the end of his utensil. Hotch would always say something approving or nod, and Spencer would relax. Spencer looked to Hotch, eyes shining expectantly. Hotch smiled warmly at the boy. "It's okay Spencer."

Penelope smiled at Spencer as well. "There's so many potatoes Spencer, you're free to have as many as you'd like."

Spencer flashed her one of his rare toothy grins. Her heart swelled. "Ms. Penelope, daddy said we can play a game and watch a documentary after dinner. Is that all right with you?" Spencer asked.

"Of course, sweetie," she said in between bites. She beamed at the little boy beside her.

Spencer reciprocated before shoveling food into his mouth. The trio ate contentedly, Hotch and Penelope chatting amicably. "Spencer, have you picked out a school yet?"

Spencer shook his head vigorously, swallowing his mouthful of food. He smiled bashfully at Penelope. "Daddy said we can pick one in a few days. I get my casts off soon too."

Penelope gave him an affectionate smile. "I'm sure you'll be running around in no time."

After the plates were cleared away, Spencer turned to Penelope, tentatively raising his arms. Penelope, on cue, gathered Spencer into her arms. His body was so frail, just a bundle of skin and bones. "Where to, my handsome prince?"

Spencer blushed faintly, quietly pointing out the sofa in the adjacent room. She hummed cheerfully, making a show out of carrying the small boy into the living room. Placing him gingerly on the couch, she smiles as he adjusts the pillows behind him. Looking up at Penelope, he pointed to the empty seat by his casted ankle. She grinned at him and sat down, taking great care not to jostle his injured leg. Hotch joined them, scrolling through menus before finding and clicking on the appropriate documentary. The trio basked in a comfortable silence, watching the documentary. Sometime later, Penelope happened to glance in Spencer's the direction. The boy was fast asleep, lids gently closed and sinking into the voluptuous number of pillows Hotch had painstakingly arranged for him. The corners of her mouth tilted upward in a soft smile. She looked at Hotch. He wasn't paying attention to the movie, rather, watching Spencer sleep. Penelope continued to smile. The credits started rolling merely five minutes later. Penelope stood up gingerly, trying not to wake the sleeping boy beside her. Spencer continued to sleep, cheeks red, a casted arm cradled against the inside of the couch. A sigh of serenity passed through Spencer's thin lips. Penelope looked at Hotch. "I'll be on my way, thank you so much for having me for dinner," she whispered, tip-toeing as effectively as possible in stiletto heels.

Hotch stood up quickly but carefully. He rounded the furniture to envelop Penelope in a tight hug. "Thank you," he breathed into her neck. "Spencer's really taken a liking to you."

The pair walked over to the door. "I'll see you soon, hopefully" Penelope inquired.

Hotch nodded. "I'm thinking of inviting Dave over later in the week. I want Spencer to meet the whole team but I want it to be slowly and in small groups. I don't want to overwhelm him."

Penelope smiled. "That's a good idea boss," she said kindly.

Hotch opened the door and walked Penelope out. He turned back to Spencer, who's eyes were open blearily. "Daddy," he muttered, extending his good arm for Hotch latch onto.

Hotch gently lifted Spencer. The young boy rested his head against Hotch. Hotch leaned down, pressing a kiss into Spencer's ruffled hair. Walking Spencer into his room, Hotch balanced Spencer in one arm (it wasn't hard, his son was bare bones, something Hotch was actively looking to remedy) and pulled back his son's covers. Placing Spencer into the bed, he folded the covers over him carefully, kissing him on the forehead again. "I love you daddy," Spencer mumbled from underneath a pile of blankets.

Hotch felt his heart melt. He carded his hand through Spencer's hair lovingly. "I love you too Spencer," he said fondly.

A/N: I'm so sorry about letting this slide guys. Semester got super busy and school is almost done and I pinky swear to update more frequently over my break. Next chapter is Spencer's first checkup with his primary since discharge, and his first psychiatrist appointment. Also, including dinner with Dave and choosing a school!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I'm so sorry for lapsing in updates. Semester ended, I got pancreatitis, and my laptop broke D: I'm also looking for someone interested in making a "cover" photo for this story, so DM me (: Several things about this chapter: I know BMI is inaccurate as hell but it is still the most common tool used for weight proportions so I went with it.

William Reid woke with a dull ache in his forehead. He rolled over. Shuddering at the sight, he leaned over to push the nearest corpse away. The cold staring eyes of the accountant at his firm stared at him, filled with fear and shocked. William grunted. Kevin, was his name? He couldn't care enough to remember. He shifted into a sitting position. The cops were hot on his trail, he had to get out of Nevada and he had to do it quickly. _I'll be out of here by next week. Just need to go take care of that failure of a wife. Then the boy._ He grunted, righting himself. His vision cleared and his hand shook, a bottle of whiskey making soft swishing noises. He knocked back several shots worth, before smashing the bottle against the wall. He looked at the bodies on the floor, blood seeping into the ivory carpet. William tip-toed closer to the body sprawled on the floor. Gingerly, he used his foot to roll the second person onto their back. A flicker of remorse reverberated through him. He was met with the scared face of the wife, her hair unkempt and the surprise still in her eyes. He grinned bitterly. _Everything comes with a cost_ , he thought. He rummaged through the refrigerator, shoving some cheese and crackers into his pockets. He opened the cabinets, eyes immediately drawn to the Smirnoff. Pocketing it, he drifted out the back door. He shivered. He was only ten miles out from Bennington. He would rest tonight, and tomorrow, take care of business.

Spencer stared at the linoleum. His leg was outright, still in a cast, with a large sock covering it. His other leg dangled, barely meeting the footrest. He was wearing a new pair of track pants that snapped down the leg- which helped accommodate his cast. They were sitting in the waiting room of Children's National Medical Center. It had been a little over a month since Spencer was found, beaten and bleeding in his own backyard. Spencer was meeting with his new primary provider, who would then give a referral to a new psychiatrist, dietitian, whatever Spencer may need. The small boy picked nervously at the hem of his shirt. His hair, freshly cut, was slicked back. He turned his head tentatively, to face his new father. "Dad," he whispered, reaching out his encased arm to tap Hotch tentatively.

Hotch looked down. "Yeah Spencer?"

"I'm scared," the smaller boy admitted reluctantly.

"Would you like for me to come in with you?" Hotch offered, smoothing Spencer's hair.

Spencer nodded. "Sir. Is she going to ask me about my father?" he asked.

Hotch chewed on his lower lip pensively, trying to formulate the most appropriate and least intimidating answer. "Well kiddo, she might. But you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I just want to make sure you're healthy and that the doctor knows everything she needs to."

Spencer smiled softly. The receptionist was sitting several feet away, busying herself with paperwork. Several minutes passed and she looked up, using her index finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Spencer John Reid?" she called out, scanning the room.

Hotch rose to his feet and moved behind Spencer's wheelchair. "We're right here, miss," he smiled, pushing Spencer towards the reception desk.

The receptionist gestured to a nurse at the end of the hall, who was smiling at Spencer kindly. "Hi Spencer, I'm Andi, I'm going to be your nurse today. We're gonna stop in the hall so we can weigh and measure you. Are you able to stand on one foot?" she asked.

Spencer bit his lip timidly. "Y's ma'm," he whispered, knuckles gripping the armrests of his wheelchair.

Hotch looked at his new son sadly. He had been hoping Spencer would slowly start getting accustomed to other adults, but apparently this would take more time. He rushed to Spencer's side, lifting him gently from his chair while the nurse wheeled it out of the way. Spencer wobbled a little, but stood straight against the wall. The nurse brought down the measuring tape and smiled. "He's growing really well, he's a quarter inch taller than he was back in Summerlin."

Spencer grinned widely. "That's good, right dad?" he asked, looking at Hotch hopefully.

Hotch reached out and ruffled his hair fondly. "That's excellent buddy."

The nurse extended her arms to move Spencer back into his chair but he recoiled quickly. Hotch moved in swiftly, carrying Spencer back to his wheelchair. "I'm sorry, he's still pretty shy around strangers," he said apologetically.

The nurse shook her head, dismissing Hotch's apology. "It's alright. We have a special scale to weigh Spencer so he doesn't have to stand on his good leg for too long."

Hotch wheeled Spencer onto the scale dutifully. Nurse Andi fiddled with the settings before scribbling down a number. "I see that even without a dietitian, his weight is much better too. He's still extremely underweight but not nearly as bad as the records we received. His BMI went up from a 12.5 to a 15.5."

Hotch smiled again, pleased with both Spencer and himself. "The average is around 20, correct?"

Andi nodded and smiled. She led them down a hallway before pulling them into an exam room. Fluorescent lights glared and the room smelled faintly of rubbing alcohol. An exam table sat kitty corner to a desk with a computer. "Mr. Hotchner, if you could please help Spencer onto the exam table so I can take his vitals?" she asked politely.

Aaron obliged, seating Spencer on the paper covered tableau. His feet dangled and he clicked the heels of his shoes together several times to fight the nerves rising in his stomach. Andi wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Spencer's arm and put her two fingers on the inside of Spencer's wrist. She pressed a button. Spencer winced slightly as the cuff inflated. A minute or so later, two numbers flashed as the machine beeped. She hummed softly as she removed the contraption from Spencer's skinny arm. "His blood pressure is slightly high, 130/85, but this is most likely a long term effect from the malnutrition. Temperature and pulse are both fine, so I'll go get Dr. Santiago. It shouldn't be long." Andi beamed as she pulled the blood pressure machine out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Spencer and Hotch settled into the comfortable silence. Five minutes passed before a soft knock on their door was heard. "Come on in," Hotch called out.

The door opened slowly, revealing a woman with messy dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. "Hi, I'm Dr. Amy Santiago," she said cheerfully, reaching over to the hand sanitizer. "You must be Spencer."

Spencer nodded timidly. "Hullo doctor."

"And you must be his father. You called earlier to let me know about the special circumstances your son is in," Dr. Santiago reached over to shake Hotch's outstretched hand. She swiveled in her chair to scan the laptop on the desk. "Ok, so vitals are fairly good. Let's see if putting on a few more pounds helps your blood pressure go down. Your ankle was broken pretty badly, and you've been in this cast about four weeks. In another two weeks I think we'll have you transfer over to a walking cast so your muscles don't atrophy. Do you know what that means Spencer?" she asked kindly, without condescension.

Spencer gave her a quick nod and a small smile. "Yes ma'm. Atrophy is when the muscle wastes away cause the cells aren't being used."

"Your father mentioned you were bright," she praised him warmly, squeezing his shoulder. "Your wrist should be good enough to come out of the cast, but I want you to be very gentle with the return to normal activities, like playing and daily routine activities. Your clavicle should be healed by now, so we're going to take off your sling today, and your splints. Does that sound alright? How are you feeling?"

"That sounds amenable ma'm. I feel much better ever since Agent Hotchner came to help. I don't hurt in my bones anymore and he feeds me every day," Spencer said, obviously pleased with this new development in his life.

Dr. Santiago smiled sadly. "That's wonderful, Spencer. May I listen to your heart and lungs?"

"Yes ma'm," Spencer said dutifully, leaning forward slightly. He flinched at the cold touch of the stethoscope.

"Alright, your lungs sound good, no more fluid in them, and your heart does as well. Everything looks good, but I'd like to do a blood draw today so we can make sure Spencer isn't lacking any key nutrients that prevent him from recovering at top speed and quality. I would also like to take out those stitches. Would it be alright if we removed them today?" Amy asked, gesturing to Spencer's forehead.

"That would be okay," Spencer said with acquiescent undertones.

He reached out to hold Hotch's hand, who obliged immediately. Amy smiled at the sight. "Let me go get my kit. Then we can talk about specialist referrals. I would like Spencer to see a dietitian to make sure he gets back onto the growth curve. He should also see a pediatric surgeon to get the pins removed from his ankle, or he'll outgrow them. I also understand that you've chosen a psychiatrist that you'd like to see."

"Yes, Spencer decided that he'd like to see Dr. Renaud."

Dr. Santiago nodded. "That's certainly possible. I will be right back."

Spencer turned to his father. "That was better than I thought," he exclaimed.

Hotch couldn't help but smile warmly at his son. "I'm proud of you kiddo," he praised Spencer, squeezing his hand. "What would you like for lunch? Would you like to go out or go home and make something?"

Hotch had been doing reading about abused kids and he discovered that open ended questions often seemed like tricks to children of abuse, and it was always better to give them options, to ensure them that they were not being manipulated into expressing a want that could be denied. Spencer tilted his head thoughtfully. "Are we still going over to Uncle Dave's?" he asked.

"That's right, I nearly forgot. He said he was going to cook us a big meal," Hotch said, checking his watch. "Actually, by the time we get out of here, it'll be around the time we have to leave."

Spencer grinned. "That's okay."

Amy walked back in, carrying a small basket with her. She pulled the chair up to the exam table. "I'm going to use some numbing cream on your forehead then i'm going to cut the ends of your stitches and gently pull them out, does that sound alright? Then I'm going to cut your cast off. It'll be loud, but I promise I won't hurt you."

Spencer nodded obligingly. Amy smiled at him warmly, gently reaching out to rub the analgesic across his forehead. She gently snipped out the stitches, chatting amicably with Hotch. She then griped the scissors, cutting into the cast slowly. "I'm going to have to use the saw now Spencer," she said, showing him the small tool she was about to use.

The noise pierced the air and Spencer winced. "There. You're all done. Now let me send out those referrals and you should be able to be on your way. Please stop by the lab downstairs so we can get that blood analysis. We'll call you in 4-6 days with the results."

Spencer smiled. "Thank you doctor," he said, reaching out for Hotch to place him back into his wheelchair.

"Please schedule something with Lee at the front desk to get your leg cast removed in two weeks," she said with a wide smile.

Spencer reciprocated. Hotch pushed them out towards the reception area. While he was busy scheduling the new appointments, Amy leaned down. "Spencer, I know you're a very smart boy. But I don't think I've ever met an 8 year old who didn't want a lollipop."

Spencer smiled shyly and took the outstretched sweet. He looked up at his father and waited patiently for him to stop talking to the receptionist. When Hotch finished, he looked down. "Dad can I have this?" Spencer asked.

Hotch looked at his son fondly. "Of course kiddo. It's a half hour drive to Uncle Dave's and one lollipop isn't going to ruin your appetite."

Spencer grinned, delicately removing the wrapper before sticking the sucker into his mouth. Hotch bid the medical team goodbye before wheeling Spencer to the exit. Right before leaving the hospital, Hotch's phone buzzed.

Barnett Harding exhaled loudly. His desk looked something of a ransacked room, papers everywhere, his phone hidden and his computer screen obfuscated with scribbled-on Post-Its. The last sighting of William Reid had everyone in panic, flocking to different parts of Vegas. Harding had submitted a request to the FBI to put Reid on their Most Wanted list, and was on a decent sized waiting list. This morning, local police were called out to the home of Kevin Andersen, an accountant on payroll at Reid's law firm. The teacher of his son called earlier when their son did not show up for class. His wife, Khorye, was found facedown in the kitchen, shot twice, and their son Nicholas, in the living room. Nicholas was the only survivor, and possible witness of Reid's rampage. Their home was ransacked. Police were posted at Bennington, to protect his ex wife. They would find him. Barnett extracted his cellphone from his pants pocket. "Hi. Agent Hotchner? No, no we haven't caught him yet, I'm sorry. How is the little man? Thats great, I'm so glad he's feeling better. We just have an update. We found the bodies of Reid's accountant, Kevin Andersen, and his wife earlier this morning. Their son, Nicholas, was unharmed and found asleep upstairs. Nicholas was deaf, and we're waiting on an interpreter to see if he saw anything at all last night. Do you mind asking Spencer if they knew each other? I'm so sorry, we are doing our very best to find William, I've got dozens of men logging overtime looking for him and we will continue doing so until he's found and put behind bars."

Hotch sighed. "Thank you Detective. Yes, yes I'll be sure to tell him. Have a good evening."

Hanging up the phone, he swiveled Spencer's chair around. "Buddy, I just got a call from Detective Harding."

Spencer widened his eyes. "Did they find my father?" he asked hopefully.

Hotch bit his lip. "I- no. Not yet buddy. But he's going to, I promise you. He uh, wanted me to ask you something. About a little boy named Nicholas?"

Spencer's brow furrowed. "Nick Andersen? When I was little, when momma was home, we would play together. He didn't sign that well back then, but now he's probably better. He's deaf, you know?"

Hotch chuckled. "Detective Harding told me. You know sign language?"

Spencer nodded eagerly. "Mom taught me when I was really little. Nick was always really nic, but he really liked video games, so we didn't have much in common. He always let me watch though."

Smiling sadly, Hotch cleared his throat. "Spencer. I'm sorry. But Mr. and Mrs. Andersen were found this morning," he began. Spencer's mouth opened, but Hotch hurriedly said, "Nick was found. He was okay. We just want to make sure you're safe."

Spencer nodded, crestfallen. "This is my fault."

Hotch clutched Spencer's hand tightly. "No. Never. It's not your fault. It's your father's. Please believe me," he pleaded.

Spencer sniffed, using his now free arm to wipe his nose. "Y-yes sir," he said miserably.

Hotch pulled Spencer close to him, squeezing him tightly, hoping to convey all the support and understanding he had through his embrace. "Would you like to go to Uncle Dave's now?" he asked gently.

"Yes please," Spencer said mournfully.

Hotch guided the wheelchair out of the hospital in silence. Loading Spencer and the chair into the car, the couple drove away in silence. Hotch glanced in the rear-view mirror. "Hey, would you like me to play one of the books on tape?" he asked Spencer, who was staring distantly out the window.

Spencer looked at his father briefly. "Yes please," he said softly.

Hotch pulled over, and opened the CD case for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. "All I have is Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets from an afternoon with Henry a while ago, is that okay?"

Spencer nodded, still staring off, mind distracted. The car revved along a country road, and Spencer found that his eyes were very heavy. It couldn't help to close them, just for a second, he thought to himself, letting gravity take over. Hotch smiled from the front seat as he saw his son's eyes flutter shut. The car continued to move along in a peaceful lull accompanied by Jim Dale's low English accent floating to the backseat. Hotch pulled into Rossi's driveway, car bumping softly over gravel. He twisted backwards to tell Spencer they've reached their destination, but the young boy's eyes were already opening slowly. Spencer straightened his head sleepily. "Are we here daddy?" he asked.

Hotch smiled warmly. "Yeah Spence. Let me get your wheelchair and we can go in."

Spencer stared up at the mansion. It was probably twice as large as his house was, and a good size larger than his new home here in Washington, D.C. He suddenly felt very nervous. Playing with the hem of his shirt, he allowed Hotch to lift him into his wheelchair. The chair's wheels turned over gravel, crunching loudly. Spencer craned his neck in search of the end of the voluminous property. Hotch wheeled Spencer up the concrete driveway and shifted the chair onto the porch step. Hotch pressed the doorbell, and several seconds later, Rossi opened the door with a wide grin splitting across his face. "Aaron," he said pleasantly, reaching forward to give Hotch's hand a hearty shake.

Spencer gazed up at Rossi, tentative fear flickering in his grey eyes. "Hi Spencer. Do you remember me? I'm your Uncle Dave," he said gently, outstretching his hand for Spencer to take.

Spencer hesitantly took Rossi's hand, grasping it lightly and shaking it. "H'lo Uncle Dave," he said softly.

Rossi led them into his home, past a grandiose living room and into a shiny, elaborate kitchen. "I'm making spaghetti marinara with Sicilian cheesecake for dessert. We also have a house salad as well."

The dining room was just beyond the kitchen, and Rossi hurried over, moving a chair to accommodate Spencer. Hotch sat down beside him. "The food looks great Dave," he said warmly.

"It looks really good," Spencer added, smiling bashfully.

Rossi smiled back at him. He took his seat at the head of the table, passing Hotch the large bowl of salad. "Well why don't we start?"

The three ate in a happy silence, Spencer still waiting tentatively the first few minutes, waiting to be rebuked or refused. When Hotch did the exact opposite, rather, by encouraging Spencer to take more food, the boy relaxed and began to settle into his surroundings. He began actively engaging in the conversation, telling Dave about his favorite books and his favorite games to play. "But I really like to think about Oliver Sacks. I liked a lot of his case studies. The human brain is always so interesting to think about," he said happily, clumsily shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.

Rossi chuckled. "That certainly is true Spencer," he commented, watching the boy fumble clumsily with his fork and knife. "Did you get your cast off today son?"

Spencer nodded vigorously. "Yes sir! It was super scary. Even though I knew it wasn't gonna hurt, I was scared, but Father was there and he let me hold his hand. The saw they use can't actually cut skin, you know, it's the vibrations that break the cast open."

"I actually didn't know that one," Rossi commented thoughtfully. He watched as Spencer set down his fork and knife carefully, folding his hands and looking at his father expectantly. Hotch smiled at his son and pushed his plate forward. "Spencer would you like some more?" Dave asked.

Spencer shook his head. "No thank you sir, I'm about full," he said.

Rossi's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Too full for dessert?"

Spencer's eyes lit up. He looked at Hotch immediately. "Dad, can I have some dessert please?" he asked.

Hotch nodded in amusement. "Of course, but only one piece, I don't want you to be up all night. We have that interview with one of the schools tomorrow, don't forget."

Spencer looked at Hotch seriously. "I could never forget," he said, nearly scandalized.

Rossi passed Spencer a plate of cheesecake and watched the boy devour it in record time. Hotch leaned over and ruffled his hair, a smile settling on his face. Rossi smiled too. He had seen his friend happy before, of course, but nothing like this.

Nothing at all like this.

A/N: I'm splitting up the dinner into 2 chapters because this is getting a bit long. I'm sorry if this seems like a lot of filler but I promise you it's building to something. Also, something else to look out for: I'm writing a Law and Order SVU/Brooklyn 99 crossover in the style of How I Met Your Mother~


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